Little Bird
by CasJuiceUpMyAssbutt
Summary: Dean wakes up alone in the motel, Sam has gone to god knows where , and before he can finish his shower, he finds himself with a dying angel on his hands. wing!cas , eventual Destiel, vague season 5 spoilers, gore, coarse language. ONGOING- reviews are appreciated and I will try to upload on a weekly/fortnightly basis.
1. Chapter 1

Dean woke, squinting slightly in the dark, and he looked around the not quite empty room. Sam's bed hadn't been slept in, but there were a few empty beer bottles in the waste basket that hadn't been there before. He grunted and sat up, stretching and yawning a little- how long had he been asleep for? After a good five minutes of staring blearily at a stain on the wall, Dean rolled off his bed and trudged over to the bathroom, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from his face. _A shower would be good. Really good._

Stripping down and stepping into the stream of hot water was bliss, his clammy skin freshening and reddening in the scalding spray. Though slightly painful, Dean liked the heat. The burning trickle down his spine and over his toughened flesh was soothing, even though it stung slightly when it trickled over the peeling handprint burnt into his shoulder. It had been such a long time since he had gotten that burn, since he'd stared in fear at it in a grimy mirror. He chuckled, ah nostalgia. How long'd it been since he'd seen Cas? He'd been keeping to himself lately, chasing a god who honestly didn't seem to give a fuck about his planet anymore, not even that his kids were screwing it to hell.

Dean sighed. Angels. If someone asked him to describe them now, his answer would be shockingly different to what he'd have said a year or two ago. No fluffy white wings or glittering halos, no white silky robes and porcelain faces; They were just creatures, a generally douchey, uptight and righteous group of creatures, but creatures all the same- not the glowy, harp playing, do-gooders society had made them out to be. Maybe they weren't always self righteous pricks, and maybe some of them were actually kinda friendly, but most of them were just as bad as, if not worse than, plenty of the demons he'd sent back to hell. _But hey_, thought Dean, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel, _Cas isn't all that bad._

Dean's ponderings were interrupted, however, by a whip of wind and a loud thump.

Dean nearly cracked his head open on the shower frame as he jumped and slipped in shock. After scrambling to his feet and letting loose a stream of profanities, Dean yanked a towel off the rack and haphazardly wrapped it around his waist before leaving the room, still dripping with soapy water.

Before him lay Castiel, twitching and shaking, face down on floor. Dean gasped in a terrible mixture of awe and revulsion. Sprouting from the angel's back were two huge wings, coated in thick, black plumage. His bloodied feathers filled the air, and the wings were bent in garishly unnatural contortions. Yet, despite their broken look, they continued scraping against the floor, leaving smears of ruby red blood and black feathers on the shaggy carpet like some kind of crude paint.

Dean staggered over to him, dodging the wings as they continued their violent spasm. Cas was hurt- and it was bad.

"Cas- can you hear me? CAS!" Dean shouted, finally reaching Castiel's trembling shoulders, large spots and smears of shining red blood began to seep their way through his frayed trenchcoat.

Castiel's writhing faltered, his wings froze temporarily, his chest contorted as if to speak, but the only sound that escaped his lips was something halfway between a sob and a pained wheeze.

"Fuck- shit- I-" Dean couldn't put together his sentence; "Cas- what can I do? Hold still! Dammit Cas! You're just gonna make it worse!"

In response, the writhing eased a bit, but it didn't stop- at least Dean could look at what harm had been done. On gently pushing Castiel onto his back, pulling back the trenchcoat and unbuttoning the now scarlet shirt, Dean could take in the garish slashes and tears in his side and chest. The angel's body moved sharply in and out, blood trickling out of countless incisions with every cutting breath- some wounds so deep that Dean daren't look into them. But worse of all, a thin, silver sword was jutting out of his hip, accompanied by two horrible shards of fractured bone. And, like the product of a weak torch, a ray of white light leaked from the slash and into the air.

"Oh god-" Dean was panicking, could he get it out? Would it just hurt Cas more? But as he was, the sword was in an incredibly dangerous position- right next to his vitals. "Cas- please just-try to hold still- don't move, this is gonna hurt"

Gingerly, Dean gripped the hilt of the sword- Castiel froze. Dean placed his other hand on Castiel's hip and began to gently pull out the blade. Blood and light shot violently from the wound, splattering over Dean's skin and making him shut his eyes for fear of going blind. Castiel screamed in agony; but his voice constantly cut out as he choked on and spat out mouthfuls of blood. The rest of his body was tensed and he was breathing in short, sharp bursts in between his screams. His wings were jerking up and down, knocking over furniture and tearing down curtains His cries strengthened, begging Dean to stop, to please let go, to just kill him now- tears streamed from his eyes and his screams became more choked and pained as Dean drew out the sword at a horribly slow pace; but he daren't go any faster, one slip of the wrist could end his friend's life.

And so it went on for what felt like a year before Dean finally tossed the bloodied blade aside. Castiel's mutilated skin instantly began to heal, slowly, but fast enough to be seen. Dean left his side and grabbed a few towels to wipe the blood from Castiel's mouth and stem the bleeding. By the time he returned, Cas was crying softly and shaking, the only wound that seemed not to be healing at all was the jagged incision in his hip, which still emitted a weak beam of pure light.

Knowing he had done all he could for the time being, Dean swiftly vaulted to the bathroom where he had left his clothes, and he pulled them on roughly without bothering to wash off the huge smears of crimson that covered is front.

Upon returning, Dean could see that all of Castiel's other cuts had filled slightly and bled a little less, even the bare patches on his wings were dusted with dark, velvety down. But the healing was weakening, and after a visible shallowing of wounds and growth of feathers; it seemed to slow to almost a complete stop, and the bright ray emitted from his side seemed to strengthen. And with every passing moment, Castiel looked fainter and fainter.

Not knowing how to stem the flow of bright light, he reached for his cell phone. Maybe Bobby knew something he didn't.

"Come on, pick up the fucking phone" he muttered angrily.

"Dean? What is it?" Bobby finally answered, he sounded a bit groggy, what was the time?

"It's Cas, Bobby" Dean spoke fast and feverishly, "He just zapped in here- all bloody and broken- I don't know what to do" his voice cracked and he could feel tears welling in his eyes"- I think – oh god" Dean stopped and ran a hand over his face, _damnit Dean,_ he thought to himself, _pull yourself together, you're no use to Cas like this,_ "there's light, I think it's him- leaking out of – him- like some kind of energy, the brighter it shines, the deader he looks- He's been cut up real bad, Bobby- please- tell me you know something"

Bobby was silent for a little, "Dean, you need to calm down- how bad is he?"

"Someone's really shredded him- the blade was shoved right into him when he got here- oh god- and he's got- I mean I can see his wings, is that bad?- I-Bobby- I need help " Dean wanted to hit himself, he sounded like a child.

"Look son, I barely know anything about angels, at least nothing more than all the bibles I could find had to say about 'em" He sighed wearily, "I think your best bet would be to try asking him- is he conscious?"

"Barely- he doesn't seem to be in the state to talk" Dean paused to look at Cas for a second, his eyes were closed and his breathing irregular, and his body shook with silent sobs. "But I'll give it a shot- hold on for a second-"

Dean put down the phone and placed his hand on Castiel's shoulder. Cas flinched a little in response, but he didn't make a noise or open his eyes. As softly as possible, Dean nudged him into consciousness. His eyelids flickered a little and he let out a choked sob, whispering something indistinct- Dean wasn't even sure if Cas was speaking English.

"Cas- I need you to wake up man- I don't know how to help you" His voice was breaking and he swore under his breath- "Please just- say something- anything"

The angel's breathing faltered again and he opened his mouth- this time saying something intelligible "Dean-", He moved his left arm slightly, loosening his rigid fingers.

"Cas" Dean put his hand in Castiel's, which gripped it weakly, staining it with sticky, hardening blood. If keeping Cas in the land of the living meant Dean had to hold his hand, then god forbid, Dean would hold his fucking hand. "How can I help?" Dean waved his other hand in the direction of the stab wound.

"If I can get –" Castiel coughed erratically, blood trickling from his nose and the corners of his mouth- "Energy- I-", the rest of the sentence was lost in another fit of dreadful hacks, followed by more sobs of pain.

Energy? Power- thought Dean, Unable to understand and finding it unbearable to watch his friend in so much pain, Dean simply pressed his bare hand firmly against the unsightly gash. Suddenly he felt a strange, stabbing heat burn through his palm and fingertips, spreading like wildfire through his veins with every pump of his heart. It gave him an almost sickening feeling of weightlessness and his stomach churned.

Dean closed his eyes and tried to pull his hand from the wound. But to no effect, his hand had become rigid and stuck on the glowing slash. When he opened his eyes, his vision had become blurred, the room was spinning- the bloodstained carpet and the black of the feathers swirled together in front of him, the walls seemed to be closing in, bending and pulsing. Dean was suffocating, his chest was caving in on itself, there was no air to breathe. He felt almost torn from reality, as if we was separate somehow; it was agonizing to cling to consciousness. He couldn't do it any longer. The blackness crept in from the corners of his vision and filled up the distorted room, snaking into the cracks and sucking out the colour. The floor came crashing up to meet him and he sank into it, he wanted to scream for help but his mouth wouldn't open, he wanted to run and hide, but his legs refused to move. Soon the dark reached Dean's eyes and seeped through them; he was sucked into the centre of the vortex and swept into numbness.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean felt light, or empty, he wasn't sure. He didn't even feel real. He looked down but there was nothing. Sheer dark emptiness all around. He reached his hand out in front of him, or at least, he felt like he moved his hand, but there was no proof his hand was even there. Was it simply the darkness? He tried to look at himself, but it was like his physical form was gone. He felt panic rise in his throat, a crushing on his chest, but Dean wasn't even sure he had a chest to have the air squeezed out of.

He tried to grab a hold of himself, but he felt no sensation anywhere, no matter what he did. Everything was closing in, it was terrifying, so Dean tried to run. The space around him wasn't changing, but somehow he could tell he was moving. As he drifted, he noticed a subtle change in the void, had it gotten lighter? There was a distant flicker. A far away light just out of reach. The nothing slipped around him like water in a deep, cold pool, and Dean tried to reach the welcoming glow.

In a daze he moved closer, the light bobbing and flickering far away, gradually growing as he glided towards it. His heart felt like it was being tugged at and squeezed, if it was even there at all. It warmed as he grew closer, the tugging became stronger, but an otherworldly heat seemed to engulf him, the light was comforting somehow. It was big, small, scary and soothing all at the same time, and even though all it was was a weakly glowing figure floating in the dark, Dean felt attached to it, concerned for it.

Suddenly veins of black began to creep over the light, as if to snuff it out. Dean brushed them away with his invisible hands, swiping them at them, only to have ten times more creep back every time. He would shout at them to go away, but he had no voice in the dark realm, so all he could do was scratch and claw at the encroaching shadows. It was a futile battle and soon the light was almost completely covered, Dean cried out, but only silence escaped, and he plunged forwards, grasping blindly over the rapidly dimming form.

An enormous warmth engulfed him, the shadows flew off the entity, it looked up at him, it was vaguely human shaped, and eerily familiar. A pair of piercing blue eyes flicked open and an almost burning heat flared over his formless body. But Dean was not pained, he was mesmerised by the bright blue eyes, by the infinity of the glow and the feeling that gripped him when he embraced the figure. He tightened his grip, but as he did, the figure slipped from his grasping fingers like a wisp of glowing smoke, fading into a weak glow. Dean cried out in silence and grappled at the fading light, but the void had sucked it away, leaving him alone in the dark.

* * *

Dean's eyes flicked open, he found himself curled on the floor; face down in the shaggy carpet, a taste of something metallic and bitter on his tongue. His body tingled as feeling returned to his nerves, but he was drained and empty. He sat up, an action that made his head spin, and squinted in the darkness of the room, the lights must have cut out. The lights. The light. A light? Dean struggled to think, why was the idea of a light sticking in his mind? But the thoughts were no sooner in Dean's head then they had left it, creeping back into the furthest corners of his subconscious. There were much more pressing matters at hand.

Like Castiel.

Dean turned, the angel was still sprawled out to his side, his body moving peacefully with the rise and fall of his chest. Though, his form did not look like it should have been peaceful. His coat was tattered and his skin covered in ugly, bloody scars. Dean lifted his hand and shakily rested It on the angel's shoulder. He tightened his hollow feeling fingers around it, unable to stop himself smiling. He sighed in relief. Castiel was still alive. Torn, weak and unconscious, but miraculously alive.

Loosening his grip on the shoulder and sliding his hand up to Castiel's neck, he pressed two fingers to the clammy skin. It was slippery to touch, covered in a sheen of sickly sweat, and it felt far too hot. The comforting relief in Dean's chest was replaced with a sudden tightness and chill. A fever was not a good sign.

"Cas, can you hear me" he croaked, crawling closer to Castiel and nudging him gently on the shoulder. The angel's head lolled to one side and his jaw tightened for a second, but no further response was made.

Dean carefully pulled back the tatters of fabric that had once been Castiel's shirt off the angel's torso and ran a hand over the scarred flesh. Most of the wounds had sealed, but Dean's hand soon found a patch of fresh, sticky blood. The stab wound on Castiel's hip was still bleeding and open. It wasn't bleeding quite as much as before, and to his relief, there was no pale glow escaping the torn skin, but it was still just as deep and grotesque.

"What the hell happened to you man…" he sighed as he rose to his feet. Dean steadied himself on a set of drawers as he blinked back dark specks. He almost felt like he was going to pass out. But he couldn't do that, Castiel was still hurt, and he needed someone to care for him, tend to his wounds, keep him alive. He'd have to shake off the dizziness for now.

He flicked on the lights and searched the room for his battered first aid kit. Usually, it would be in his duffel bag, but Castiel's thrashing had thrown everything into a mess.

The shaggy cream carpet was no longer cream, the tacky wallpaper was smeared with broken black feathers and sticky blood, the bed covers were strewn all over the floor and Sam and Dean's possessions were littered amongst the mess. He dropped to his knees and started rifling through the clutter, throwing aside all sorts of random things he didn't even remember owning. _Really Sam?_ He thought as he pulled a can of hair spray from beneath a pile of blankets, _Really?_

It took him a while, but eventually he found the kit and returned to Castiel's side. He clicked the box open and pulled out a clean towel. But Dean would need to get some water to wash the wound with first. He carefully stepped around Castiel's wings, which Dean noticed were looking swollen at the joints and twisted, it was a garish sight. Dean couldn't imagine how much they must be hurting, but he had to deal with Castiel's more pressing injury first.

Standing in front of the sink, Dean was confronted with his image. His skin was pallid; his eyes glazed and dewy. _Wow, you look like crap,_ thought Dean to himself, seeing how his body shivered in the mirror. He ran a hand through his hair and down his face, closing his eyes and sighing. He turned the tap and felt the towel go heavy and hot in his hand. The water was stinging his fingers, but he took a while to notice. Steam was wafting from the tap and collecting on his skin before Dean finally removed the towel from the scalding flow and twisted the handle. He tried to squeeze the water from the cloth, but his hands and arms drained of energy, so he carried the dripping towel as it was over to Castiel.

The angel flinched when he began to dab at the cut, so Dean pulled his hand back. "Cas?"

Castiel's eyelids screwed up as he turned his head slightly. A violent shiver shook his body and he whimpered.

Dean felt something light and wispy brush over his bare foot, and a strange tingling sensation shot up his spine. Looking behind him, he saw Castiel's wings twitching back and forth, he was obviously trying to move them to a more comfortable position, but their jerking was making Dean cringe. "Cas, stop." Dean tightened his hand on Castiel's shoulder, the light rustle of feathers on the carpet fell to silence. "You need to relax."

Castiel whispered something indistinct and Dean removed his hand from his shoulder. He patted it gently before picking up the warm towel. "Okay, brace yourself, this might sting a little."

He pressed the cloth over the wound and squeezed some hot water from it onto Castiel's skin. Castiel gasped and Dean felt the feathers brush over his skin again. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. "Calm down Cas, it's just a little hot water" Dean could almost feel the waves of betrayal radiating off Castiel's skin.

"You said it would only sting a little" Castiel whispered hoarsely, he lifted his hand and weakly rested it on Dean's arm.

Dean pressed the towel down again, wiping it over the torn flesh. Castiel winced and tightened his grip on Dean's forearm. Dean curled the corner of his mouth into a sly smile before saying "I said it _might _sting a little, i never said it wouldn't sting a lot." He dabbed at the edges of the tear, the wound looked so much smaller when it was clean. "Rule one about people, Cas," He rubbed the towel into the middle of the wound, Castiel tensed, "We lie."

"But why, Dean?" the angel's voice was hurt, "Why lie?"

"Well, on the one hand it's easier", Dean folded the towel over and rubbed it over the inflamed skin surrounding the cut. "And in all honesty, if I'd told you that what I was about to do was gonna hurt like hell, would you have let me do it?"

Dean took Castiel's silence as his way of saying _touché_ , but he was wrong, just as Dean was puling the towel from the wound, Castiel said "I would have let you, Dean", The angel's hand on his forearm slid into Dean's palm, "Because I trust you."

Castiel turned to look Dean in the eye. His face was ashen and covered in veins of crimson red blood. His eyes, half opened and glazed, shone out from beneath his shadowy brow and stared at Dean in that strange, alien, way Castiel always did. The skin on his face was stretched and thin, Dean could almost see blood pumping weakly beneath it. Castiel's mouth curled at the edges in a frail smile, and his gaze softened into something nearly human.

"You really shouldn't Cas..." Dean felt his face going hot, why was it doing that? Oh hell no, he wasn't... Castiel was making him blush,_ CRAP. _He shifted his gaze from Castiel's stare and looked at his hand. _Damnit Dean! Stop being such a teenage girl!_

"Well I do, Dean. " Dean's 'chick-flick moment' senses were tingling, Cas was going to start rambling on about how he'd 'looked into Dean's soul and knew he was a good person' or some dewy-eyed crap like that, but the angel simply said "Thank you, for everything."

Castiel's hand started to slip out of Dean's, but the hunter instinctively tightened his hold.

"Don't go thanking me yet," Dean said, patting the angel's shoulder, "You've got a long way to go..." The sentence went unheard, however, as Castiel had slipped back into unconsciousness before Dean even opened his mouth. Dean sighed, squeezing Castiel's hand before turning back to the first aid kit. _Dear god that was a touchy-feely moment worthy of Dr. Sexy. _Dean mentally scolded himself while he dug around in the first aid kit for some antiseptic. He applied it generously with a cotton ball and covered the wound with a large gauze pad. He secured it with some ancient medical tape and wrapped a bandage around Castiel's hips, applying pressure to stop the wound from bleeding.

Stepping back from the angel, Dean suddenly felt just how tired he was. Faintness swept over him again, but Dean still struggled to stay on two feet, swaying on the spot. He stumbled over to his phone, which was still turned on, and dialled in Sam's number. There was no reply, just Sam's answering machine. Dean would've been furious if he had the energy, but as he was, he simply said, "Okay Sammy, I don't know where you are or what you're doing, but this is important." He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair.

"Look, Castiel zapped in here last night and- he was really, like really messed up and," Dean paused again, suddenly angry.

"-and I think I've stabilised him but, but he's still not healing and I'm-" Dean could feel the irritation seeping into his voice, "I need help, okay? So just- just come back already." He flicked the phone shut and almost threw it to the ground out of spite. Where could that giant possibly be?

Dean paced around the room, half expecting an apologetic Sam to call back, begging for forgiveness, but the other half of him knew he wouldn't Things weren't exactly cordial between the two of them right now, but Dean knew he would be back. Eventually.

Dean was about to put down the phone when it vibrated In his hand. His loud ringtone made him jump, he dropped the phone in shock. Swearing profusely, Dean scrambled to pick it up from the floor, and his flicked it open a bit more violently than he should have.

"Dean?" Bobby's voice blared out of the phone. "What the hell happened?", Dean remembered how he'd put Bobby on hold before trying to stop Castiel's grace from leaking out of him, Bobby must have waited for hours.

"I think I passed out or something Bobby, but I don't really remember" _Crap_ thought Dean,_ Here comes the lecture._

But on the other end, Bobby just sighed, "Well if you're calling, you're okay. What about your angel?"

_'Your Angel?' What the hell was he implying? _Dean shuffled uncomfortably on the spot before saying, a little too quickly, "Not bleeding to death, but he's not much better." Dean looked back down on Castiel, it was striking just how fragile he looked.

"Are his wings still there?"

"Yeah, big, black and bloody as ever." Dean had to admit that they were pretty awesome, even as twisted as they were. He wondered what they looked like in action, it must be pretty damn cool having wings. "Still have no clue how I'm gonna fix them," Dean chuckled, "You think I could take him to a vet and tell them he's some kind of exotic parrot?"

Bobby laughed heartily, "Well if you do, record the poor sap's reaction, will ya?" It took him a while to compose himself, "Though you probably _should_ google a bit of basic bird first aid, he sounds like he needs it."

"Noted," Dean sat down on the corner of his bed, " I'll call you back later, Bobby"

"Sure, you just make sure you get some shut-eye"

"Amen to that", Dean fell back on the bed, "Good night I guess, or good 'whatever the hell the time is'…"

Dean hung up and closed his eyes. Sleep came instantly, and soon he was lying on the bed, breathing deeply and peacefully, his mind filling again with the bizarre dream of the night before.


	3. Chapter 3

He was in the void again. Or he was the void again. It never became clear. He was everything and nothing at the same time, scared, yet somehow at ease in the darkness.

The light came sooner this time, he did not move, it did. Slowly. Softly. Drifting towards him, through him. Yet swiftly and raucously away from him as well. He longed to reach out and grab it between his fingers, pull it's warmth into his cold, its light into his darkness. But his grasping hands touched only emptiness as they searched the space.

It was keeping its distance, the figure. It was definitely a figure now, thought Dean as he reached for it in vain. But not like any figure he'd seen before. It was shaped vaguely like a man, but sweeping from the shoulders were colossal beams of brilliant light. Flayed and flickering beams, hanging from the entity and fading into the dark. The figure doubled over, glowing eyes closing and shining arms trying to find support in the darkness.

Dean felt a tug of anxiety and he found himself at the creature's side. The light shimmered and screeching wails scraped through the silence. The light, pulsing in his grip, spat out sentences in foreign tongues, harshly and in such an alien way that it made Dean want to run from it. He tried to make sense of the grating shrieks, but the longer he listened, the more disturbed he became. The creature was scared, hurt, he had to help it somehow.

Without warning, the tendrils of dark again shot out of the emptiness and began to grapple onto the shuddering light. Any warmth the figure had drained instantly, and was replaced by a chill colder than ice, colder than Dean thought possible. It burned in his grip, excruciating pain jolted through his nerves. But Dean held tight, scratching away the slithering, empty roots as the creature's deafening screeches shook the formless space.

As Dean tore at the coils, the terrible screams of the creature softened and lowered in pitch, the alien speech began to develop a kind of eerie familiarity. He tightened his hold and held up the battle against the hungering blackness, the light becoming warmer in his arms with each swipe. Dean could almost feel it expand and shrink as it drew breaths of empty air. It leaned into him, and Dean surged with sensation as it wrapped two arms around Dean's side. Its screams became whimpers, and those whimpers fell to dry sobs. It was so vulnerable, so tiny in his shadowy arms.

Dean had to tear the dark from its body, he had to. Keep it here, keep it close. Keep it safe. But it was an impossible task. Before long, the light was again nothing but mere shadow of what it had been, a vague shape, a pale blur in Dean's arms. And again, like a slither of smoke, it faded into the darkness, leaving nothing but a stabbing chill in Dean's chest.

* * *

His blood was icy in his veins as he was pulled into consciousness. An echo of an unearthly sound resonated in his skull, but what it was or where it had come from was a fact unknown to Dean's conscious mind. He forced his eyes open, taking in the sight of the mouldy motel ceiling. Had it not been for the crimson smear in its centre, Dean would have proceeded to go back to sleep, try and rest for as long as he could. But the blood reminded him of the sickly, possibly dying, angel he had lying on the floor.

As he sat up in his bed and turned on the beside lamp, shedding a weak light over Castiel, who was curled in a tight ball, twisted wings draped over his form. His eyes were screwed up in pain and his mouth was half open, He looked no better than he had the before and Dean felt a pang of guilt for not moving him onto softer ground.

"Cas..?" said Dean, climbing off his bed and dropping to his knees, gently nudging the angel's tense shoulder. It was then he noticed the smell. Acrid and metallic, weak, but somehow overpowering. His hand froze on Castiel's shoulder, suddenly searching for warmth, pulse, anything. He roughly yanked Castiel's wing off his body and squeezed his wrist.

It was cold.

Feeling drained from Dean's body and the breath was torn from his lungs. He stared blankly at Castiel, his hand tightening over the icy wrist.

But not too cold.

There was a flicker of a pulse ticking beneath the thin, papery skin.

Dean sighed in relief.

But the smell of decay had to be coming from somewhere, and it was definitely coming from Castiel.

Dean scanned the angel's body, which was trembling lightly, looking for the source. There was a pool of blood next to Castiel's head, he must have thrown up. That explained the coldness, bloodloss could do that sometimes. But Dean was more worried about the putrid smell. He pulled the angel's rigid arms from his waist and peeled back the trench coat, revealing the bloody bandage wrapped around Castiel's hip. The ripe, rotten scent intensified, choking Dean and making his stomach churn. The wound was infected.

With one hand over his mouth to filter out the stench, Dean carefully peeled back the reeking bandage. He gagged at the sight. It was no longer a clean, pure red like before, but murky and swollen. The flesh around the gash was splotchy maroon in colour, becoming more purple and yellowy towards the edge. A bloody slime oozed from the wound at a constant rate. It was sickening.

_Crap, _thought Dean, _I should've been more thorough_. He cursed and fought back a gnawing guilt that was pushing its way up his throat. He had to fix his mistake. _Why didn't i stitch it up before?_

The first aid kid, fortunately, was full of disinfectants. He couldn't take Castiel to a hospital, so he'd have to deal with it himself. He swabbed the slime from the cavernous gash and squirted entire tubes of disinfectant over the swollen skin. All the while, Castiel remained rigid and unresponsive, not even flinching as Dean mercilessly poked around the tendrils of torn skin with hot, sterile swabs. It must have been extremely painful, but Castiel just lay there, still and stiff.

The next stage of treatment made Dean's skin crawl, he would have to cut the dead flesh from the wound. He carefully stretched a piece of particularly foul skin towards him and poised the surgical scissors, ready to cut. In a single deft snip, the greyed slither was hanging loose between his fingers. He felt the gagging in his throat, he wouldn't be able to hold it back this time. He dropped the scissors and the slip of skin and bolted from Castiel's side. He was already heaving before he reached the bathroom, vomit splattering over the cracked tiles. Why was he reacting so strongly? Dean was used to seeing these kinds of wounds, stitching up his own cuts, he had seen hundreds of mangled bodies in his time. But there was something about seeing Castiel like that, he couldn't quite pin it, it was different...

It was a while before the retching stopped, and when Dean finally straightened himself up and splashed cold water over his clammy face, he made his way back to Castiel.

The angel seemed less rigid, more relaxed, but still just as detached as before. Dean knelt back down and stuffed the cut with sterile, wet bandages. He sloshed disinfectant over the reddened skin, rubbed copious quantities of antiseptic into the flesh and finally dried the wound with a soft, sterile towel. He wouldn't make the mistake of covering it this time, it needed to breathe.

Now Dean would have to move Castiel from where he lay sprawled in the centre of the room. Which, given that Castiel was unconscious, badly hurt and had enormous wings sprouting from his back, was a lot harder than Dean would care to admit. But it had to be done, Dean was sure Castiel would feel a lot more comfortable in a bed and wrapped in soft blankets than lying on the cold, hard floor.

Moving Castiel was a difficult task to say the least, and after a fair amount of swearing and overbalancing, Dean finally managed to dump him rather ungracefully on his bed. He climbed up on the bed next to him and dragged Castiel up so his head was rested limply on the starched pillows. Castiel was almost as loose as a ragdoll now and all stiffness had disappeared from his joints. Dean spread Castiel's wings out slightly to either side of him, the swelling at their joints looked worse than before. But Dean knew nothing about fixing dislocated wings, so he would have to leave the unconscious angel to endure that particular hardship for the time being.

To make tending to him easier, Dean decided it would be best if Castiel was wearing something much looser and less complicated than what he had on. Because as much as Castiel loved his holy tax accountant outfit, it didn't look particularly comfortable. He rummaged through the mess of the room for a loose t-shirt and some comfortable pants. He finally managed to unearth an oversized, faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt and a pair of Sam's grey sweatpants. They had escaped the splatter of blood and were relatively clean, so Dean carried them over to Cas.

To Dean's surprise, removing the trench coat was easier than he imagined it would be. It simply seemed to slide through the base of Castiel's wings, as if they weren't there at all. _Well that's a little weird _, thought Dean, tossing the bloodied trench coat aside and pushing Castiel onto his side. He hooked his hands under the collar of the suit and pulled Castiel's arms out of the sleeves. Dean removed the jacket and Castiel fell onto his front, face smothered in the pillow.

Dean hastily turned Castiel's head to stop him from suffocating himself and lifted him up so he was swaying in a sitting position, legs over the side of the bed. He pulled the tee over Castiel's head and shoulders, slipping his limp arms through the sleeves and pulling the loose shirt over his scarred torso. It was strange, seeing him without the trenchcoat, it had always made him look so much bigger than he actually was, so much more intimidating. But in the baggy t-shirt, he seemed smaller, vulnerable.

Dean had just taken his supporting arms from Castiel's waist when the angel tipped over, his head planting itself into the crook of Dean's shoulder. The rest of Castiel followed, and soon Dean found himself flat on the floor, pinned down by his unconscious friend.

He tried to free himself, but his knees were stuck under the bed and his arms were pressed to his chest under Castiel's weight. Dean could imagine just how comical it must be, Dean Winchester pinned to the carpet by Castiel the ragdoll. Pinned to the ground. Pinned under… Castiel lying on top of…. suddenly Dean realised what it must look like. His train of thought went screeching to a halt, however, when Castiel stirred on top of him.

A soft, slightly pained moan escaped the angel's lips as he buried his face in Dean's shoulder. His ebony hair brushed under Dean's chin and his arm slid up to the hunter's side, hand slipping under Dean's back. Goosebumps prickled all over Dean's body at the touch and he shuddered, his mouth suddenly dry. His face went hot.

"C-Cas-" Dean was shocked at how choked and high his voice sounded. He tried to move but his body was as stiff as a board.

Castiel sighed into Dean's neck and drew his wings over the pair of them, wincing as he did so. He was still asleep, that much was clear. He spoke, but his voice was slurred with sleep and muffled by Dean's flesh. Did Castiel sleep talk?

The hunter tried to sit up, but Castiel winced and tightened his grip, his wings folding behind him. Dean pushed his arms in vain against Castiel surprisingly heavy torso, managing to lever him up slightly, only to fall back down. It was like he was made of lead.

"Dean" Castiel breathed it more than anything, and through the tiredness in his voice, a note of pain was barely audible. Castiel's hand scrunched up a handful of Dean's shirt and he spoke again, "Hurts…", His voice broke, and he whimpered and Dean felt a heat pool over his side. Castiel's wound was bleeding again. _Fuck_

His rigidity from before faded in an instant and Dean shoved the bleeding angel off of him. Castiel doubled over and whined as Dean hooked an arm behind his back and another behind his knees. The wings dangled from Castiel's body as Dean cradled him in his arms and lowered him gently onto the bed, pulling up the now bloodied t-shirt to inspect the gash.

Miraculously, all prior traces of infection had left the wound. There was no garish swelling, no bloody pus, just the torn skin and fresh, crimson blood. Dean couldn't leave it open anymore, he didn't need to. He would have to sew it shut.

"You awake there Cas…?" Dean spoke softly, sitting down on the corner of the bed and reaching for the first aid kit.

"Yes" Castiel's voice was faint and strangled. He reached for the wound with an outstretched palm, but Dean grabbed his wrist before it touched.

"No." said Dean as he firmly placed Castiel's hand on the covers. "You can't touch it, I need to stitch you up, got it?"

Castiel squirmed unhappily, face screwing up as his wings jerked, making the headboard whack into the wall and break through the plaster. Maybe his cut had improved, but his wings had definitely gotten worse.

Dean pulled a bottle of heavy duty painkillers from the depths of the first aid kit, reading the description carefully before standing up to fetch a glass of water. He'd probably have to get Cas to down the whole bottle if they were to have any kind of effect on him.

Getting Castiel to swallow the pills was harder than he'd anticipated. He propped him up against the headboard and gave him the glass and a handful of meds. Castiel spilled the water over his front as a sudden jolt of pain from his wings made him double over and whine. Dean decided that it would be best to dissolve them first. He crushed them in the glass and stirred in some warm water. The scent was bitter and foul, and Dean had to use physical force to get the cup anywhere near Castiel's mouth.

"Just drink it, Cas" Dean's voice had an edge, he was getting annoyed at Cas, who's lips refused to open for the glass of dissolved painkillers. " It'll help, I promise."

When Castiel opened his mouth to reply, Dean seized the chance and tipped the opaque liquid down his throat. Castiel spluttered at first, and his hand tried to push the glass from his lips, but by the time he did, he had already drunk most of the medicine.

Dean slapped his hand reassuringly on Castiel's shoulder, "See, that wasn't too bad, was it?"

A rather unhappy looking Castiel did not grace Dean with an answer, but instead slid back onto the bed. Dean almost wanted to laugh at him, but he decided that he should leave at least one tiny shred of Castiel's dignity intact.

The scandalized expression soon began to fade from Castiel's face as the drugs began to kick in. His meshed brow loosened and his breathing became uniform, eyes staring, half opened and blearily up at the ceiling.

Taking his cue, Dean dried the blood from the wound and picked up a hooked needle. Castiel shifted weakly and groaned when the hunter stuck the needle into the flesh and pulled the thread through the skin. Dean was never very good at sewing, so it took him a very long time to seal the wound. He just hoped the drugs he'd given Castiel were doing their job, not just making him drowsy.

"All done." said Dean as he pulled the needle from the wound for a final time. He looked down at his work. It wasn't too bad. Well, actually it _was_ pretty bad. But as messy as it was, it would hold, Dean had made sure of that.

There was no response from Castiel. His expression was softened in a drug induced sleep. Dean stepped away from him and wiped his hands on his shirt. What the hell had torn Castiel up like this? And how? It wasn't exactly easy to hurt an angel, well, unless you were another angel. Which begged the point, what_ were_ the god squad up to of late? Dean hadn't seen Zachariah, Anna, Raphael, Gabriel; hell, even Lucifer was keeping his head down. It was the freaking apocalypse, but nothing apocalyptic was happening, not since they'd taken down War in River Pass. It was unsettling. Dean would ask Cas when he woke up, but for the mean-time, he figured warding the room from everything that goes bump in the night seemed the best idea.

* * *

Dean collapsed on the sofa, tired beyond all reason and feeling generally sh*tty. Castiel still hadn't made a noise while he'd been smearing sigils of all sorts all over the wall, nor had his phone rung. On a more positive note, nothing all-powerful and terrifying had broken down the door either, so Dean figured everything must be okay. Okay enough for him to get some shut-eye while he could.

Yet no matter how hard Dean tried, he couldn't keep his eyes shut . Usually, he'd be able to lie down, lay his head on the pillow and fall asleep in an instant. But not this time. He was exhausted, his head pounding, his limbs sore and overworked, but his body refused to sleep. It was like he'd drunk too much coffee, or downed a dozen or so energy drinks. He dismissed it on adrenaline and stress, but he couldn't stop the nagging concern in his gut.

Unable to stay in bed, Dean paced tirelessly around the room. His muscles were tense, his fists clenched to try and make them tire. Dean tried calling Sam again, but again he was answered by a monotonic answering machine. Dean knew he should be worried about him, and he was, but the worry felt distant. He bent to tidy the room, shifting tossed about pillows and blankets back onto the beds, plucking odd bottles and flasks of spices and ointments off the bloody carpet and shoving them in his duffel bag, and grabbing his and Sam's clothes and piling them in a messy heap. It was tedious, wearisome work, but Dean wanted to .

And tire he did. His blood had stopped surging, his nerves had relaxed, and his eyelids drooped. Dean curled up on Sam's bed, since Castiel was in his, and drew the scratchy blanket over his head.

But his body repelled unconsciousness. Every time he was almost out, he'd jerk back into consciousness, ears ringing and his frame buzzing with hollow energy. And he could almost swear the ringing had tone- like a murmuring crowd. As soon as Dean tried to focus on the voices, however, they slipped back to silence. It was frustrating.

Dean needed to have a shower, that would help. He hoped anyway.

But as he stood to leave the room, he noticed movement where Castiel lay. A twitching, not enough to rattle the bed, but enough to tangle the bed sheets. Dean dove into action.

The bed sheets were wrapped tightly around the angel's neck, strangling him as he writhed, head tossing back and forth as a bloody foam seeped from his parted lips.

All former tiredness vanished from Dean's body as if by some kind of magic. He tore the sheet from Castiel's neck and thumped him on the chest. Castiel's eyes flew open and he spluttered on the sickly froth. Dean wiped Castiel's mouth with the edge of the bed sheet and rubbed a warm hand comfortingly over his shoulder. "You alright there Cas?"

In the dark, Dean could barely make out Castiel's features, but his eyes looked sunken, shining out of dark circles beneath his meshed brow. He wouldn't stop coughing and wheezing, so Dean kept a firm grip on Castiel's shoulder as he crooned words of comfort, Dean was experienced in dealing with nightmares, because god only knew just how many times he'd hugged and cradled a scared little brother in the middle of the night. The effect was slow, but Castiel began to change from clingy fear to an apologetic mess.

He sighed Castiel rambled apology after apology. His words were indistinct, but his shaky voice was sincere. Dean guided the hysterical angel out of his bed, half carrying him into the bathroom. He was soaked in cold sweat and almost hypothermic, some warm water would do him a lot of good.

As Dean turned the taps to fill the tub, Castiel nearly fell onto the ground in a faint. Dean could tell he was in a lot of pain, no matter how much Castiel tried to hide it. "Woah there Cas-" Dean caught the angel before he hit the tiles and lay him gently against the wall, in a loose sitting position. The room was stuffy with hot steam when Dean finally lowered a stripped down Castiel into the warm, soapy water.

"Better?" Dean saw Castiel's expression loosen and a slight smile flicker on his lips. The angel slid himself deeper into the bath and sighed. His wings tensed as if he was going to move them, and Dean soon realised he wanted to put them in the water too.

Gripping the ridge of the wing, Dean felt how muscular and knotted it felt. Maybe he could help after all. He lifted one into the water and rolled his thumb over the swollen joint, pressing into a clump of tight muscle and massaging it with soapy water. Castiel winced at first, the initial touch must have been painful, but a wince turned into a content mumble as Dean kept digging his fingers into the swollen joint. The wing flexed in his grip, a wet soapy feather or two brushing over his shirt.

Feeling a need for conversation, Dean began to spill out tale after tale of teenage drama. He knew Castiel probably wasn't listening, but he didn't care. He just wanted to talk. For some reason he felt uneasy when the only sound was silence.

Castiel nodded and shook his head dazedly when Dean asked rhetorical questions, he raised his eyebrows when he described something surprising, and even chuckled softly when Dean recounted one occasion where he mistook a very good role play for a demonic possession and dowsed the poor girl in holy water and salt. The atmosphere of conversation was light and casual, Dean's aim had been to pluck Castiel's mind from any traumas from before and instead set it busily reconstructing his stories. Castiel tried sharing some stories of his own as Dean set to work rubbing the knots from his other wing , but the words that came out of his mouth were indistinct and choppy.

Yet despite this, Dean held his side of the conversation quite competently.

"Dean." Castiel breathed as Dean lathered soap in his feathers.  
"Yeah?" Dean didn't look up from Castiel's wing when he answered; he was focussed on his task.

The angel sighed. It must be nice to have his aching wings massaged like that. They would still be hurting like hell, Dean was certain, but Castiel seemed to be getting at least some kind of comfort from Dean's kneading. He lay there in a relaxed trance for a while before saying something that sounded vaguely like an expression of thanks.

"Don't mention it," Dean kept pressing his thumbs into the slowly softening muscle of Castiel's wings, even though his hands were starting to become sore and the water was beginning to cool. He'd have to stop soon, if he wanted to make sure Castiel didn't get sick from lying in a cold bathtub. It took quite a bit of effort, but Dean finally stilled his thumbs and sloshed some relatively warm water onto a towel. He wiped it over Castiel's face, and lathered some shampoo into his hair before telling him he'd have to get up.

Deaan eventually managed to scoop Castiel out of the bath, but it was difficult as he was rather reluctant to leave the water. He gazed dizzily ahead and swayed as Dean ruffled a towel through his hair and over his skin. He leaned into Dean's arms and he nearly fell asleep when Dean was helping him into his clothes. Dean wrapped an arm around him and walked him back into the main room. He couldn't put him back in his own bed due to it being unclean, so Dean lay him in Sam's. Dean searched his piles of covers for clean, warm blankets, but everything was bloodied or too thin. What could he do? He needed to make sure Cas stayed well heated, his temperature seemed to fluctuate and drop dangerously when he was left in the cold. _Well you could always share the bed with him _thought one, odd little section of his brain that he usually ignored, _Hmm, _The rest of his mind thought it over. The possibility for an awkward morning was very, very high, but the alternative of Castiel getting hypothermia and dying was a much larger hazard.

So Dean tentatively climbed in next to Castiel, who by this stage was fast asleep, and turned to his side, close enough to Castiel to feel his heat, but not close enough to touch. Dean was only barely okay with sharing a bed with him, but touching him _while_ in bed with him? That crossed some invisible line that Dean wanted to stay well away from. _Well, _thought that one little corner of Dean's mind as he drew the covers over his shoulders and shuffled just a little bit closer to Castiel, he closed his eyes and exhaled softly as a wing pressed up against his back, _Most of you wants to keep clear of that line, not all of you...__  
_


	4. Chapter 4

The dream was different this time. The space had form and weight. It was tangible and thick around him, like a deep pool of warm water.

He felt real. He wasn't the same ghost as before, his heartbeat thumped in the silence, his chest filled and emptied itself of thick void systematically and he could feel a tranquillity sweeping through his nerves. Yet he still wasn't quite there. No matter how hard he tried, his touch couldn't find his flesh, and his eyes stared in vain through darkness in search of his body.

As his eyes scanned the dark, they were drawn, like before, to a glow in the distance. It seemed to draw back the sheets of darkness as it drifted closer, and warmth trickled off its flickering shape and into the space around Dean. What _was _it? Dean tried to blink its wavering form into focus. Its light packed into a human shape, and what appeared to be legs moved heavily, yet somehow lightly, back and forth as it came to him. It was too distant to make out a face, but two specks of blue light shone from its head like eyes, and lines of black occasionally flickered over its forehead like a fringe.

Dean reached out to the figure, and it turned to face him. Its face, while nearly void of features, screamed with emotion, and its intensity was almost frightening. Dean's pounding heart shook the silence with a feverish rhythm.

"What are you?" Dean's words were detached, more like a voiceover than actual speech.

The glow on the figures face dimmed, it turned around. The frayed strings of light that stretched like wings from its back were shortened. They shone with a paler glow, and the figure swayed dizzily. Something dark seeped from the tips of the tendrils as the figure's knees buckled and its eyes closed.

When Dean ran towards it, the figure collapsed into him. Dean tucked his hand under its chin, and felt an electric buzz surge through his fingertips and course up his arm. He turned the dimmed face to look into his eyes, but the figure's head simply slipped from his grasp and into his chest.

A voice, muffled by Dean's chest, came in a murmur from the figure's gentle lips. The words wove through the space and knitted into winding, strange sentences. There was something in the voice that was familiar, a tone or scrape that struck a nerve in Dean's mind, but he couldn't quite pin it. Dean strained himself to make sense of the sentences, and over time, they began to piece together, he could almost understand them.

The figure began to feel heavier on Dean's chest, and its otherworldly glow began to fade from it. A flesh-like beige tint began to seep over the creatures body, and with every second it looked more and more human. The dark streaks near it's face softened into a head of short, dark hair, and the face began to define itself right before Dean's eyes.

But just as Dean was about to move to figure to look at its face, to finally reveal who it was, he felt a sudden icy stab in his hand. He turned to find a tendril of blackness snaking over his glow. Dean shook to free himself of the vein of shadow, but it simply wrapped itself tighter like a shadowy python.

The warmth of the being was sapped away as more tendrils crept in, and was replaced by a chilling splash of sensation. A panic rose in his chest and he backed away, pulling the unconscious form with him. Dean wasn't about to let him get taken away again, not this time. He shouted and shook the limp body as the shadow wrapped around him, paralysing him with fear. He couldn't find any air to breathe, the void turned to ice and stuck him in space. The greedy darkness tried to pry the figure from his grip, but Dean stayed rigid, screaming and trying to pull himself free of the void's hollow grip.

Dean closed his eyes and tried to black out the terror around him, burying his face in the soft hair of the figure. His head was pounding, his consciousness was fading and he knew he would slip away any second. The figure would disappear again, and he'd be alone again. _No_ Dean's thoughts were foggy but strong, resisting the murkiness brought on by the shadow, _I'm not gonna let it take you_. Dean clung to the form, refusing to let it flicker out like before.

No matter how painful the stabbing, how cold the twisting, Dean wouldn't loosen his grip. The being sank further into him, sharing what little warmth it had left in its body with Dean. Every second was hell, his head was swimming and his body was surging with searing pain. But he knew he wouldn't last much longer. He could only suffocate for so long. And soon the moment came.

Excruciatingly, Dean tightened his hold for a final time. The form's skin against his was soft, and for a fraction of a second, he couldn't feel the nothingness trying to tear him apart. But the moment was nothing but a moment. It ended, and Dean's world went black.

* * *

Dean felt something. Something warm and soft, moving gently in his arms. He pulled it closer to his chest, and pressed his face up against it. He sighed. So did it. The figure was still with him, he'd protected it and it was safe. A pleasured shiver slid through his bloodstream and Dean slid his hand over the warm body in his arms, tiredly dipping into its shallow curves.

The body trembled, it arched into the curve of his body and shivered, its chest shrinking as a prolonged and shuddering sigh escaped it.

Something light and wispy pressed up against his chest and tickled his skin, Dean's body tingled and he groped around the warm flesh, pulling the form hungrily into his embrace. God, he'd actually rescued it, his glowing being was with him. Dean's insides shook and all of a sudden, his pants seemed to shrink down a couple sizes.

"Oh...Dean"

The body in his arms practically moaned his name. And its voice, it was… it was Castiel's voice.

_Mother of god_

Dean's eyes flew open to the skin on the back of Castiel's neck. His arms went stiff and he could feel his body go red hot. He froze, one hand pressed firmly against Castiel's chest, the other dipped into his inner thigh, fingers reaching for the edge of a stiff bulge in his pants. His leg was hooked over Castiel's and his lips were pressed hard against Castiel's back. All his pleasure and ecstasy warped into panic.

Castiel noticed the sudden change and shifted in Dean's paralysed hold. Dean's dry mouth was frozen in a stupid, half open gape, and his eyes stared unblinkingly ahead. _Shit, shit shit shit, shit,__** SHIT.**_

He felt like running away, getting himself out of the situation and just leaving, getting as far away from Castiel as he could. At the same time, he wanted to stay where he was, hell, continue what he was doing, but… he just… Dean tore his hand from Castiel's skin, and threw himself off the angel. His body chilled instantly, and his gut dropped, leaving him with a churning feeling in the pit of his stomach. Castiel turned, looking at Dean with a pair of dilated, confused, pupils. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but just flicked his eyes away, out of breath and tongue-tied.

It was idiotic. Dean standing there, stiff as a board and red as a beetroot. His throat was dry and his body twitching . he was sure Castiel could see the bulge in his crotch. Dean turned around and walked away, just a little bit too briskly. Blood pounded against his eardrums and shivers shot down his spine. He ran a hand down his face and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself down as he made for the bathroom.

"Dean-" Castiel called out, his voice was tired, but breathless and longing. Dean stopped for a half second then slammed the door behind him, flinching at the noise. He stripped off what little clothing he had on and turned the taps violently, tensing up as the freezing water hit his flushed body. It was almost painful, how icy the water was, but it was doing the trick. Dean's pounding heart began to slow down, and the knotted feeling in his gut started to ease up. He leaned against the tiled wall, breathing slowly to stop his head spinning.

He tried to think of something to turn himself off, but all that seemed to be able to find a place in his thoughts was an image of Castiel, as he was, hot, flustered, and confused where Dean had left him. And _fuck _that image did anything but turn Dean off. Dean could barely stop himself from jerking off, he bit his lip and swore, practically punching the wall to try and relieve the tension. He was turned on by Castiel, and Castiel was turned on by him. He felt like his head was going to explode, that his lungs were going to squeeze themselves out of his chest, hell, all of his insides were writhing, but not in a sickly way, they writhed like they did when riding a roller coaster.

He couldn't stop himself. Dean howled at the feeling, and instantly, he wanted to throw himself off a cliff. He moaned again as the light feeling swept over him a second time. He'd crossed the line. And again and again and again, he bit his lip and moaned in pleasure. He wanted to stab himself in the neck, he was fucking jerking over Castiel. He didn't just cross the line, he'd fucking torn it to pieces.

It was at least half an hour before Dean finished, before he felt like he could face Castiel again. He weakly turned off the taps, heart still fluttering in his chest and he climbed out of the shower and slowly pulled on his clothes. His hand stuck on the doorknob and Dean went rigid. He was hesitant, what if he got all…. Again? He slammed his other arm into the wall, the image of Castiel filling his thoughts. Again, his jeans seemed to shrink to an extra small, and Dean screwed his eyes shut and spat out foul word after foul word, his guts leaping as he bashed the wall relentlessly.

When he finally opened the door, arm red and swollen from the pounding , he didn't even look towards the bed. Instead, he stomped around the room, rifling through bags for no real reason, just to give his muscles something to do. He'd have to face Castiel soon, but he couldn't do that yet-

A hand on his shoulder made him shoot through the roof, and, if it was even possible, Dean's pants got even tighter, it was actually painful. His mouth drained of moisture.

The hand flinched, sensing Dean's shock- "Dean-"

"Drop it" Dean spat harshly, more spite in his voice than he intended. He felt like he should apologise, but at the same time he wanted to hurt Castiel.

"I just wanted to-" Castiel sounded off balance, like Dean's retort had thrown him off.

_Good_ thought Dean, tearing himself away from the angel, refusing to look at him.

Castiel didn't stop. His hand found Dean's wrist and grabbed it. " Just listen, Dean" There was an unfamiliar harshness to Castiel's voice.

"No, you listen" Dean spun viciously, shocking Castiel with a piercing glare. "It. Was. Nothing." Each word struck the angel like a stinging slap. " I don't want to talk- just- shut up and go back to sleep."

"I'm sorry…" Castiel spoke softly, he looked away from Dean furtively, he sounded hurt, but he wasn't about to stop.

"Fuck off, Cas!" Dean screamed at him, rage rolling off him in waves, making Castiel shrink in terror. The limp wings on either side of the angel seemed to halve in size, drawing themselves closer, feathers pressing against his frame. His eyes flickered up to meet Dean's. They reminded Dean of something, but his frustrated mind couldn't draw the memory in.

Dean tore his wrist out of Castiel's hand and the angel backed away, wings dragging on the ground beside him. Castiel turned his back on Dean and started to stumble towards the door, looking like a kicked puppy.

Dean's heart repelled any guilt and the hunter stomped to the other side of the room. Suddenly he didn't care whether Castiel left, he didn't care if he got hurt again. He could go get mauled by hell hounds for all that Dean cared.

His head was pounding and buzzing, a constant angry murmur filled his ears. Castiel, why Castiel? Why the hell did he... The stupid... Dean's eyes began to feel hot, almost burning, like angry tears were about to rain from them by the bucket load. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this pissed off. And good riddance too, Dean had the right. didn't he?

It was only when he heard the door close that Dean realised how much of an ass-hat he'd just been.

* * *

"Cas!" Dean called out after Castiel as he ventured outside. It was pitch black and freezing. His prior scorn disappeared, and he was suddenly worried for Castiel's safety. What if his stitches tore again? Dean wouldn't be able to find him, it was too dark in the motel's poorly lit carpark. The icy wind chilled him to the bone and he instantly regretted not putting on a jacket.

He could hear the distant thump of hip-hop music playing in the nearby bar, and saw the shadows of a few people walking by, Everything was so normal, but Castiel was nowhere to be seen.

Then it hit Dean. He was looking too high. Castiel was sick, hell, he had a fucking stab wound and broken limbs. He couldn't have gotten far. He'd probably collapsed after walking a couple metres. Dean retraced his steps, dragging his feet over the black top. He dropped to his knees and started to crawl in the dark, reaching around in search of Castiel's body.

It wasn't long before he found him. Dean's hand found a small, hot splatter on the road, and followed it to the edges of a frayed wing. He stood up and draped Castiel over his back, tucking the angel's arms over his shoulders and his legs under Dean's arms. Dean felt like an absolute prick. Castiel, who had been healing up and resting comfortably, was confused out of his wits, shouted at and chased out into the cold, simply because Dean couldn't deal with a fucking boner.

"Cas, you okay?" Dean was regretful, he opened the door and looked over his shoulder at Castiel's vacant expression. He laid the angel down on the bed and gave him quick once over for any major injuries. Apart from a nosebleed and grazed knees and palms, Castiel seemed okay. He pulled up the shirt to inspect the wound, the stitches looked like they'd been pulled and the wound was a bit swollen, but it hadn't torn.

Dean looked away from Castiel and stood up, walking over to the stove. He put some soup in a pot and set it cooking, Castiel would probably need something to eat when he woke up. Dean sighed and sank into a chair by the table, head in hands. _Why the hell did you have to tell him to fuck off? It wasn't his fault…_ He rubbed his temples tiredly.

When Dean got up, the pot was steaming and a warm, and a pleasant scent seeped into the air. He took the pot off the hotplate and looked over at Cas. The angel hadn't moved much, but he flinched when Dean dropped a bowl he was taking out of the cupboard.

The tired eyes flew open and Castiel jumped. Dean swore when the bowl shattered on the tiles and he scrambled to sweep it up. When Dean darted his eyes towards the angel again, Castiel was wide awake and pressed into the pillows. His expression was dazed and slightly angry.

"Dean-" Castiel's voice was croaky, and it was apologetic, but furious at the same time.

"Cas stop" Dean filled the other bowl and carried it over to the angel's bedside. Dean wanted Cas to be angry at him, to be pissed off, "I was an ass, and I'm sorry." He set the bowl down on the bedside table, he wanted to look at Castiel, but he just couldn't.

Castiel didn't shout at him, he just sat there quietly. Dean could tell he wanted to say something.

"Just spit it out, Cas."

Castiel lit up with emotion, it was bizarre. "Why did you bring me back, I thought you wanted me gone…" the anger was tangible.

"No- I just" Dean felt ashamed.

"What did I do?" The angel's hand shifted, finding the edge of the bed and slipping off it. He turned to face Dean, but Dean still couldn't look him in the eye. "What did I do wrong?"

Dean didn't have anything to say back. "Cas, listen…" Dean finally managed to slip his eyes up to meet Castiel's. Castiel's expression was reclusive and confused. He started pleadingly into Dean's eyes, begging for an explanation, but Dean didn't have one, not one that would satisfy him. The expression caught him off guard. He shifted his hand onto his knee and squeezed it, turning his face away and focussing instead on something in the corner of his vision. He sighed. Castiel wanted an answer and Dean needed to give him one.

"Dean?"

"It was just a…" Dean was going red in the face, his mouth was drying out, _shit not again_… "uh-a- a human thing"

"Could you explain?", his voice bore a snarky curiosity.

"I had a dream, okay?" Dean was speaking too fast, like he was trying to cover something up. "Just a stupid, stupid drean where I…. was… there was a light and…"he spat the words out in torrents, making sure he was speaking fast enough to make it difficult to catch. Then maybe Castiel wouldn't understand him. "And I woke up… well… you know what I was doing…" Dean was stuttering, and memories of before made his insides quiver. "I didn't mean anything by it- just" Dean took a deep breath, he was starting to sound like an embarrassed teenager. "Eat your damn soup, okay? I don't wanna talk about it."

Castiel was slightly stunned by the sudden deposit of information, and seemed to take a while to process what he heard. He didn't say anything after, he just looked a bit crestfallen. After a few seconds, he did as Dean said and slowly made his way through the bowl, spluttering and half choking every so often and looking a bit pallid.

Getting his flighty heartbeat back in order and silently thanking god, or whoever was listening, that Castiel hadn't pried any further, Dean asked "How's the pain?"

Castiel swallowed final mouthful of soup and cringed. _Pretty bad I guess_ Dean thought, as the angel flexed his wings, only to double over. Castiell straightened up and went pale in the face, he started coughing and wheezing violently. Dean steadied him and patted him firmly on the back to clear his airway. God Cas was vulnerable like this, he couldn't even finish a bowl of soup without having a near death experience.

"Not that much better, huh?" Castiel finally stopped hacking and sunk back into Dean's arm, looking exhausted. Dean would make a crack about Cas being a baby about it, but he was still a bit wary about offending him, he'd scared him off before, and it ended in Castiel passing out.

"You're right, Dean, I am definitely not much better, I actually feel quite terrible…" His usual, slightly mechanical tone had returned, it almost sounded forced. "Do you have any more of that medication, it was very helpful…" Castiel winced again and moved a hand to the stitches on his hip, fingers jerking back as the touch stung the reddened flesh. "Though of course, its actual medicinal value is doubtful..."

Was there any more of that medicine? Dean got up and dug around in the first aid kit. _Well fuck _Dean found the bottle, but all that remained were a few specks of bitter powder. He'd given Cas every single pill. "Bad news Cas,"

Castiel pushed himself back into the pillows, groaning unhappily. " There isn't any left?" He didn't seem surprised, just a bit let down. "It's alright, I can-" He bit his lip as a wing moved twisted behind him. "Cope." He exhaled slowly and carefully. It was almost like there was something he wasn't saying.

"What is it Cas?" Dean felt guilty for having used all of it before, not that it was really his fault that Castiel needed just about as much medication as an elephant.

"Well last night, when you… the warm water it was very…" It was like he was embarrassed all of a sudden, that was a bit strange. "Very soothing."

"Oh, a bath?", A rigidity took hold of Dean's joints. Yes, a bath would help Cas a lot, hot water worked miracles on sore joints, and it worked great last night. But Dean wasn't sure whether he could handle it this time. Cas was delirious and only half conscious before, now he was fully awake and had, not too long ago, given Dean a very stubborn hard-on.

"Yes, that would be rather nice, " Castiel sounded like he sensed that Dean was feeling a bit strange about it, "But if you-"

"But nothing Cas." Dean had to make it up to him somehow, and he gathered that risking another extremely awkward situation to make him a bit more comfortable would count somehow, "I'll get the water running."


	5. PLEASE READImportant note on Chapter 4

Okay- so I've posted chapter four (finally, sorry it took so long) But I feel that it wasn't quite up to scratch. I personally have a large number of issues with it, and feel that I should completely re-write it (except maybe the dream sequence at the beginning) and change the sequence to fit my larger plan for the story. I feel like I'm shadowing other fan-fictions and would like to hear what you guys think. Re-writing the chapter would mean that the rest of it may be put off for quite a while, but I feel that in the long-term, it'll make the story much better.

I'll leave this notice up for a week, if I get anyone protesting, I'll probably leave the chapter alone, but if not, I'll re-write it and try and make it a helluva lot better.

Sorry for the hassle guys, but to quote the prophet Chuck, "Writing is hard".

Toodle-pip.


	6. Chapter 5

It didn't take too long for Dean to fill up the tub, and with the help of Dean's steadying arm, the angel made his way into the bathroom. He was a bit steadier on his feet than before, he was improving. Slowly, but improving nonetheless.

Other than a goofy mishap with his t-shirt, Castiel was able to strip down without much assistance. Once he'd moved to lower his boxer briefs, Dean, still incredibly wary over his experience from a few hours prior, made sure his head was turned in the opposite direction until the angel had lowered his most inappropriate sections into the water, where a nice thick layer of soapy froth hid them from Dean's sight.

A sigh drifted teasingly from Castiel's lips as he lowered himself into the blissful heat. It was a comfortable, relieved sound but Dean couldn't help but relate it to something else. Something that made him tight chested and slightly uncomfortable.

"I take it you like the water then?" Dean needed to strike up conversation so he wouldn't start staring at all of the angel's exposed, startlingly smooth skin.

"Mmm" The angel sank a little bit deeper into the water, he closed his eyes, "Yes, the water is at optimum temperature,

"English please?" Dean did know what optimum meant, or at least had an idea, but the chance to see Castiel try and explain something was just far too tempting. That and his mouth was going dry, if they stayed in silence, he wouldn't be able to stop staring.

"Oh, I thought optimum _was _English. " Castiel opened his eyes and took a confused expression. " Ideal, in this case a few dozen degrees higher than my body temperature, pleasant."

Castiel's eyes shone with a familiar, curious spark. They were a brilliant blue, deep and bright under the angel's furrowed brow. The gaze was warming, captivating. _Hang on _he was leaning in, gazing into Castiel's eyes. He felt a stupid, dazed smile on his lips, and Castiel had turned up his mouth in a light grin. _Damn it _.Dean broke eye-contact, replacing his smile with his usual pout and banishing the tickle in his chest. _No chick flick moments_

The smile vanished from Castiel's face and he turned away, perceptibly disappointed. "Dean."

"What?"

"Why don't you-" He began, Dean's neck prickled, what was he going to ask?

"Why don't I….?"

The angel looked at him for half a second before flicking his eyes away. "Never mind, it is not of import." His eyes fell on something on the other side of the room and he squinted. "Dean, why is hair cleaner called shampoo?"

"Uhh" Castiel had artfully changed the subject, much to Dean's relief. "I have no idea Cas, It's just named that- maybe it was somebody's name or something." Dean waited in silence while Cas mused his answer. "You have any ideas why it's called that?"

"Your answer makes sense." He sat stared blankly across the room at it, chest rising and falling slowly with the filling and emptying of his lungs. The movement was almost hypnotic. "I have an idea that it related to the Hindi word meaning 'to knead'" Dean dazedly passed him the bottle and the angel squeezed far too much of it into his hair. He rubbed it roughly through his short hair, "Because of course, that is how it is applied."

It was often surprising just how much trivial information Cas had piled up in that rock hard head of his. Kind of weird, but interesting. "Why ask if you already knew, Cas?"

"I was intrigued to know what you thought." Dean wouldn't have believed him, but he really did sound intrigued. Or at least, his voice was intrigued, his face was worried.

Dean was about to ask what was wrong when, without warning or any hesitation, Castiel slid down into the water, letting it flood over his entire upper half, leaving his legs and wings dangling over the sides.

The hunter couldn't help but chuckle, Cas, formerly so glum and worried, looked ridiculous, especially when he started blowing bubbles under the water. It was vaguely reminiscent of washing a two year-old Sam in a motel sink. The way he flexed his toes and shook his wings was so very childlike and, for lack of a better word, cute. _No, I did not just think Cas was…. Stop. Take a deep breath. _Dean breathed deeply. _Get your act together Dean…_

Castiel remained submerged for longer than Dean thought possible, and the hunter was beginning to worry. Dean was about to reach in and yank Cas out, force some air into his chest, when the angel sat bolt upright, gasping loudly and spluttering. His face was a deep, flushed pink and his ebony hair was plastered messily to his head.

A light twinge in his stomach made Dean look away as Castiel gulped in air and started to shiver at the sudden change of temperature. _Jesus Dean, he's just out of breath. He. Is. Just. Fucking. Out. Of. Breath. Calm down. _Dean clenched his fist, and turned back, Castiel wasn't quite as pink and appeared a bit deflated.

"So that's what it's like" Castiel's voice was gravelly as per usual, but softer and spiked with melancholy.

"Hmm?" Now Dean was the one tilting his head.

The angel exhaled slowly. "Needing to breathe."

_Wait, he didn't need to breathe before_? Dean gave Castiel a concerned look, but the holy tax-accountant didn't notice, he was too busy staring intently at some bubbles near his thighs.

"What do you mean, 'needing to breathe'?" Castiel shifted his gaze to Dean's eyes as the hunter spoke.

"The meaning is clear, is it not?" Was that a dash of sarcasm? "When I was atta-" Castiel's lips suddenly glued together, cutting him off mid-sentence. Something flashed behind his eyes and his skin paled briefly, Dean frowned.

"Cas, you okay?" Castiel's lips were still pursed, and his face was twisting in a struggle to tear them apart, "What is it? What's wrong?" Dean's senses sharpened, expecting something terrible to suddenly force its way out of Castiel's chest or burst through the door.

Castiel shook his head, whether to say _no, I'm fine Dean_ or simply to express a general sense of confusion, was not clear.

Dean gripped the angel's shoulder tightly, his expression serious and piercing. Something in his chest fluttered at the feeling of Castiel's slippery skin. _Jesus Christ, Dean, this is not the time._

His hand became sopping wet as Castiel moved to brush it off, covering it soapy froth. For a second Castiel's hand was squeezing Dean's, but Castiel loosened his grip as Dean took the hint and stopped touching him. Castiel exhaled harshly through the nose and his mouth finally opened.

"A silencing spell" the tone was monotonic and matter-of-fact. Whoever had hurt Cas obviously knew what he, or she, was doing. _That sucks_ would be a horrendously inadequate expression of just how big of a pain in the ass that was going to be. "But my …." Castiel left a deliberate space for Dean to mentally insert the word 'attacker', "Isn't of relevance to my point."

"Actually it kinda is, Cas" Dean wanted to find whoever it was, and now Castiel was providing some light on the topic, the hunter wasn't about to let him change the subject. "Do you remember anything?"

Again, Castiel blew out a fast, irritated breath. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Not much," he gave a light shiver and slipped most of his torso back under the water, "Just a lot of white hot pain, and a bri- AH"

It wasn't Castiel's lips being sealed together that shut him up this time, the angel jerked upright and he was shaking violently, eyes screwed up under a knitted brow.

_Whoever did this meant business _thought Dean as he helplessly watched Castiel rock on the spot, sloshing water over the edge of the tub. There was nothing he could do but wait for it to pass. Goddamnit he hated feeling this useless.

It took him a while, but Castiel stopped rocking and started to straighten up, Dean rubbing a reassuring hand over the angel's shoulder as he did. "You okay, man?"

"I'm fine." He leaned against the wall and sighed in a pained way, there was a bit of blood in his mouth. He coughed into his hands.

"Cas, you suck at lying."

The angel turned to Dean, looking flustered. " Would it make a difference if I didn't?" he sighed and coughed again, "The more I talk about the …." Another strategic blank in the sentence, "the worse these spells get, so I'd prefer to keep quiet."

"Understood" Dean felt scolded, Castiel had been very snappish, but he had the right to be cold. "Sorry."

"You were concerned, I understand." Castiel looked away again.

"Damn right I'm concerned, and what was that crap about breathing, Cas?" The hunter didn't even try to sound collected, he was worried, really worried.

"All I know is, " The angel spoke carefully and slowly, testing each word in a whisper before repeating it loud enough for Dean to hear. "When I turned up here, I was wounded and bleeding, not just blood but my grace was escaping."

He said the last three words like they hurt, and he looked sadder after saying them. Dean couldn't help but feel sadder too. "When that happens, I lose contact with the host and," Castiel rubbed his hands on his shoulders, "As a consequence, I become more… like you, more human…"

"So what, you've lost your halo and need to wait for it to come back?" Castiel always healed, he'd lost grace before and sure enough, within a few hours or days he'd 'recharged' so to speak..

"That's the issue Dean, I don't know whether I _can_ get it back." He stiffly draped a black wing over his front, falling back a bit as he did so. "I've lost so much, all logic says I should be dead." His head rested on the arch of his wing heavily. The feathers looked dulled and loose.

"Well you aren't dead, and I'm gonna keep it that way" said Dean firmly, fixing the morose Castiel with a kind of look that he rarely gave. "Which brings up another point- if I'm going to get you healed up, I'm gonna need to fix your wings."

Castiel flinched in shock, "You can see them?"

"Yeah Einstein, they're kinda hard to miss." It wasn't like Castiel to joke, honestly, he had to be joking, right? Surely he could tell when his wings manifested. Dean gave Cas a confused look, "I gave them a-" Dean felt himself going a little red, "When you were all _weird_ last night, I washed all the blood off 'em, remember?" Washed didn't quite have as many implications as what Dean actually did. A massage was a lot more, well, think about it this way, if Sam found out, he would never let Dean hear the end of it.

"Oh" Dean was expecting a little more, but all the angel did was raise his head and tuck his wings awkwardly behind him. He winced.

"Well brace yourself." Dean grabbed the ridge of the wing.

Castiel yelped.

"Sorry-" Dean pulled the wing to straighten it out, it was incredibly stiff and swollen. A few feathers fell out as he rubbed a hand over the ridge to find where it was broken.

"Is this-" The angel was biting his lip to the point where he was beginning to draw blood, hands clamped firmly around his arms. "Really necessary- OW!"

_There's the sucker _the joint in the angel's wing that most resembled an elbow was crooked and incredibly swollen, feeling almost identical to a dislocated limb. Dean pressed a thumb over the tightened muscles and the wing jerked out of his grip.

"Stop it-" Castiel squirmed slightly as Dean took the humerus and radius of Castiel's wing into two separate hands, gripping them close to the joint.

"On the count of three" he could feel how the joint would slip back into place, it was a bit more complicated than an elbow. Even if it went well, it would be really painful for Cas.

"Dean-" Cas's knuckles whitened as they dug into his arms.

"One-"

There was a resounding click and Castiel cried out in shock and sudden pain. "You lied-" His voice was small.

"So? It helps make sure you don't tense up." The hunter gave Castiel's wing a satisfied pat, the bone had clicked back perfectly. Sure, it was still stiff and knotted, but it definitely wasn't broken. "Does it hurt anymore?"

"Not as much," He rolled the joints of his wing slowly without flinching or recoiling, "Thank you."

"Least I could do, now turn around and let me look at the other one."

The angel grimaced, looking at his other wing warily. "Alright…" He swivelled a bit too quickly in the water, splashing it onto Dean's face.

"Hey!" Dean spluttered through the bubbles that splattered over his mouth. "Slowly, man, when I want a bath, I'll have one."

This earned a light chuckle from Castiel. Which was both comforting and discomforting at the same time. Castiel never laughed like that, it was too human. It didn't feel right.

He sobered however, When Dean started to inspect his other wing.

After a lot of shocked cries, violent jolts, accidentally torn feathers, and general discomfort on Castiel's behalf, Dean figured out that his left wing was much worse off than the other. The bone was broken, not dislocated, but snapped. Jagged scars were hidden under the inky feathers, and when Dean so much bumped the muscle, Castiel clung to his shoulders with such strength that his fingernails dug into his flesh and drew blood.

_Great, now that I'm trying to fix him, I'm just hurting him more _Dean released Castiel's wing and stood up, telling the angel he would try and find some splints or something, But really Dean had no idea what to do. He wasn't a doctor, yet alone a friggin' angel doctor. He closed the door behind him, locking it and telling Cas to scrub himself down while he went splint hunting. He'd have to leave the room, maybe check the Impala''s trunk for something… _hmm, maybe a wooden stake'll work_

He was musing over the contents of the Impala when it happened.

A lightening strike of white hot, stabbing pain in his back.

Dean was caught by surprise and half screamed as he doubled over, hands flying to try and find the source of the sting .

It ached and flared painfully, screams flowed out of his mouth in terrible streams. Through muffled hearing, Castiel was calling his name- The panic in his voice gave it a high, exposed sound. Dean tried to call back, but his mouth could do nothing but shriek.

The door handle was shaking as Castiel tried to open it, Dean had locked it. Why had he freaking- Dean curled into a tight ball, rocking as another wave of searing heat tore from his back and blazed down his body.

"Dean!" Castiel's voice was barely audible through the sound of Dean's screaming, it broke as Castiel pounded the door with his fists. What the hell was happening? Dean's eyes felt hot in their sockets and his body crackled with energy. Something felt like it was ripping out of his flesh, his bones, but when he reached back, his fingers clasped nothing but his old black shirt.

"Help-" He managed to choke out between sharp breaths, He was scared and hurting; a pair of emotions Dean experienced on a daily basis, but seldom was it this bad. His vision went bright silver and his body arched with each wave. His ears were ringing and filled with strange noises, like the murmurs of a crowd. Murmurs changed to shouts and Dean cried out again.

His entire body was bursting; he was tearing out of his skin. "CAS!" Dean's voice was plagued with terror and broken by a wailing sob. He thrashed on the ground, trying to break free of the pain. He could barely hear the door crack as Castiel threw himself against it.

As soon as Castiel broke through the wood and clasped a hand over Dean's shoulder, and the pain tore itself from his body. He lay panting on the ground, whining like an injured dog.

"Dean-Dean!" Castiel shook him, trying to get him to open his eyes. But Dean's eyelids felt glued together, welded shut.

"Cas-" Dean breathed as he grasped blindly for the angel. His hand met an arm, and it gripped it hungrily. His heart was too stressed to jolt at the feeling of Castiel's dewy skin. "What's happening to me-" Dean's voice came out in a broken whisper. The crowd of alien voices was still rattling his skull.

"Open-" Castiel's voice took a calm disguise, almost motherly in tone. "Open your eyes"

Dean tried to pry his eyelids apart, but they refused to budge. "I- I can't"

"Dean." The absence of the usual coarse grind of sound was unsettling, Castiel's voice wasn't meant to sound like this, it was meant to scrape in a low growl. But the softness was comforting, and the fear coursing through Dean's veins dwindled into a mere tremble. He felt a hand cup under his jaw and raise his head. The murmur in his ears faded, the burning in his eyes subsided, the lids no longer glued together.

The hand, formerly hot with steam, dropped in temperature dramatically and the figure looming over him staggered. Dean opened his eyes.

Everything shimmered with an ethereal glow and the colours were intense and bright. He was dizzy from screaming, his back still aching from the pain. "Cas what did you do-"

He didn't need the angel's answer, though, it was pretty obvious. The idiot had healed him. "You stupid son of a-" Dean was out of breath and pushed himself into a sitting position, just fast enough to catch an unconscious, sopping wet, stark naked Castiel as he tipped into Dean's arms "-bitch."

**_A/N- sorry for a short chapter guys, I know I usually write like twice this much, but it panned out shorter than I anticipated, And thanks so much for all the feedback on the last chapter, good to hear you liked it. Reviews are amazing,I like, get all asdfghjkl-y when I get them, and they really help motivate me to write more! If you see any typos, think there are any problems or just think I'm not writing the characters right, please tell me! Feedback is fantastic and I love to get it!_**


	7. Chapter 6

Dean always felt a bit of buzz around Cas.

He'd always dismissed it as a kind of angelic radiation. A static electricity that tingled in the space around the angel, a crackle that made the hairs on the back of Dean's neck prickle. It was exhilarating, and part of the reason why he always told Cas to move away from him when he stood a little bit too close.

It wasn't that he felt insecure about having his personal space invaded, after all, that bubble barely existed to begin with. It was just that the constant shiver was too much for him.

Of course, he'd never told any one this, and never planned to.

But that didn't change the fact that he did.

That he always had, from the first time they'd met in that ravaged old barn.

Which was exactly why Dean was feeling a bit more than slightly worried that as he scooped up an unconscious, slippery, completely and totally naked Castiel into his arms, he couldn't feel that buzz.

At all.

Not even a tiny prickle.

Sure, there was that new tightening in his gut and that flush of blood to his cheeks, but that wasn't the same thing.

Castiel really, really shouldn't have healed him.

Even though Dean was hurting and scared; healing him, using up his grace when he had so little left...

"You fucking child..." Guilt was already starting to spread it's uncomfortable, nagging fingers across Dean's throat. "You shouldn't have healed me, I would have been..." _You don't know that _"I would have been fine, okay?" Castiel slipped a bit, but the hunter shrugged him back into his arms. "Don't do that again."

Dean carried Castiel across the room and into the bathroom, where he sat him with his back against the wall. He wrapped a towel around his shoulders and ruffled another through his hair.

"At least your wounds haven't opened, right Cas?" Dean smiled halfheartedly, tipping Castiel's chin up to look at his face. "Ah, spoke too soon..." Dean spotted a bead of deep red in the corner of the angel's mouth. The hunter opened it and tipped the angel's head forward, letting the blood dribble into a wad of towels in his fist.

_Why are you even talking to him, Dean, he can't hear you... _The coughing eased and Dean rubbed Castiel's shoulder in a way he hoped was soothing. The water on the angel's skin was cold, and Dean felt a light shiver pass through the angel. "Better dry you off, huh." He pushed Cas back into an upright position and went over him with a clean towel, making sure to wipe off each and every droplet of slowly cooling water. Carefully, he ran the towel through his dark feathers, becoming slightly worried when a few fell out at his touch. and was it just him, or did they seem a little smaller than before?

He dismissed the thought and dressed Castiel before lifting him up and carrying him to his bed. He lay him down, pulled a light blanket over him and sat down on the corner of the bed. "What is it with you and being in a coma, Cas? It's like a hobby for you."

Of course, true to what Dean said, Castiel did not so much as breathe in response; So Dean had to imagine Castiel's overly technical and complicated reply. However, it took Dean a few second to realise that his imagined answer from Castiel was not an imagined answer at all. Or at least, Castiel hadn't said it. Something else was talking. Lots of something elses were talking._  
_

Droning.

Drumming.

Word after word after word.

But he couldn't understand any of it, it was just a wall of sound, bubbling in and out of his ears.

"What the hell-" Dean staggered onto his feet, searching the room for the source of the speech. The radio was turned off, the TV definitely wasn't making it, nor was it coming from outside. It was like something had crawled into his ear, and for some reason, refused to shut its stupid mouth.

He covered his ears with his hands, almost crippled by the constant thrum. he felt like his head was about to burst. A half shout scraped out of his mouth as fiery pain flared in his eyes, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. Adrenalin co arsed through his veins, his body arched and twisted.

"Shut up!" he screamed, but the sound just intensified in response. Something shattered and glass flew across the room, but he barely felt the pain when it dug into his skin. The cries in his ears merged into a single, sharp tone, piercing him, shaking his every cell. His bones felt like cracking as the sound reverberated within them. "Fuck-" Dean spat out the word as he felt something tear through the flesh on his back. He felt like he was stretching his arms out behind him, but he knew both hands were planted firmly on the ground.

The pain in his eyes pulsed and his vision went bright silver. He slipped over the glass again, feeling only a tiny sting. His body was ready to explode, every fibre trying to pull itself away from the whole and shoot into space.

Eyelids parted, but the light filled his sight, flames were licking at his face, burning and freezing his skin at the same time. _  
_

The sound blared, the light blazed, his body seared and screamed. This was more pain than he'd ever felt. Even in hell, nothing had ever hurt as much as this. He couldn't register the fullness of it, the unnatural, almost solar flaring of torturous pain. There was no way he'd be able to handle it, he'd die. _I'm going to die _the thought could barely make it through the terrible screech in his skull, _I'll die._

And it stopped.

Just as suddenly as it had started.

Unsettling silence taking the place of the voices, a dull ache replacing the waves of pain, a burnt feeling replacing the roaring flames in his eyes.

Yet silver light still obscured his vision, giving everything a strange glow.

Dean collapsed ungracefully onto his stomach. The glass beneath him cut through his shirt, but it paled in comparison to what he's just felt. He stared across the ground, blinking heavily, trying to shake away the glow.

He screwed his eyes up and half hissed. There was a weight pressing down on his back, pulling on his shoulder's like the straps of a heavy backpack. Desperate to remove the crushing feeling, Dean rolled onto his back, shocked to feel something under it.

_What the hell am i lying on? _Something was settled uncomfortably between his shoulders, and something soft tickled the back of his arms.

Swiveling his head to one side, Dean felt his heart falter. There were shadowy shapes, long, whispy shadows stretched out on either side of him. Almost like... like...

_Almost like wings._

_**A/N: Really, really short chapter, I know. Sorry- haven't been getting much time to write, I've been seeing lots of friends over the holidays and my laptop's broken, so consequently I only get a few opportunities at a computer to type at. **_

_**As always, it's awesome that so many of you guys actually read my stuff, it makes me really happy that people like my writing. Feel free to leave reviews (be assured, I'll read each one, they make me all warm and fuzzy inside), and please point out any weird grammar, spelling,wording,etc. Lots of this was written in the small hours of the morning. **_

_**Love you all (and fuck it's 3am OHWELL) ~Casjuice signing off**_


	8. Chapter 7

_**A/N: made a few little edits, nothing big, just grammatical errors and awkward phrasing. **_

Everything stopped.

w_ings_

The noise around him slowed into a single, muffled sound.

_fucking wings_

Another sound joined the rumble, a rhythmic pounding, heavy in his ears and painful in his chest.

"W-w-what the hell-" The words caught in his throat and piled up, choking him. The pounding drummed in his ears and sped while his ribs squeezed the air out of his lungs and filled the bones with a dull chill.

Dean was still where he lay, eyes staring blindly over the wispy silhouettes stretched out and un-moving on either side. _How the hell- _He tried to move his arms, fighting against the thick fear to get them to twitch, to bend, to raise him up and onto his feet, yet every part of him was drowning under his paralysis. He could barely think through the fog, his thoughts tangling in the confusing smoke.

His heart was hammering inside him, silencing every other noise and banging against his eardrums relentlessly. Focus was hard to catch, hard to keep; every thought swerving back to the smoky shapes on the ground. Then it all crashed through, like water breaking through a dam, a tsunami on a shoreline.

He moved all at once, in a sudden blur, a scramble to his feet. Wind whipped around him and a weight pulled down on his back. He struggled against it and a feeling surged through his limbs and body, searing at first, but then tingling and uncomfortable. Dean twitched where he stood, his body almost vibrating with the sheer energy roaring inside him. White hot and alien, exhilarating and terrifying. Then his eyes blazed.

The ground seemed to tremble underfoot, groaning under the force of his hurried steps. A bag caught underfoot and he stumbled, the wisps on his back reeling and fanning to keep him upright as if by instinct. In their flurry, clothes and feathers were thrown off the floor and into the air, the shadows stirring them as they snaked behind Dean, though he paid no heed to the mess his foreign body caused, his focus instead pinpointed on the mirror across the room.

When he approached, swaying in a nearly drunken stagger, something glinted in the reflection. Was it just the light? He got closer, hands grappling for the basin in front. Why was it glowing like that? He squeezed on the cold sink, his knuckles whitening when a gagging feeling pushed up his throat. The glint intensified, turning into a shine, a blaze. It was bright silver and otherwordly, but somehow it didn't hurt Dean's eyes, no matter how intensely he stared. The shine fell right where his eyes should be, _right where… eyes…_

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck" The porcelain shattered like an egg-shell in his grip, unable to suppress the gasp that escaped his lips when the shards of stone fell to the ground. Mesmerized by his sudden strength, he stared down at his hands, at the powder of basin covering his fingers. _How could i do that- _but thought was not given much time as the mirror in front of him shattered, catching Dean by surprise and making him yelp in shock. The light-bulbs shone, the radio and TV switched on by themselves, tuning into static. But the static wasn't static, it was more than that. Each tiny crackle had precise pitch, little intonations and pauses, like a voice. Each buzz a voice, joined in a discordant murmur. They spkoe in strange ways, but somehow could understand them, hell, some were so clear that they sounded like a voice on the other end of a phone line. So Dean sifted out the others to try and focus on the two, slightly more distinct and slightly more familiar voices in the thrum.

"Zachariah," The louder of the two voices came is a dark whisper, deep and twisted with a strange accent, Dean couldn't quite attach it to a name, despite how familiar it sounded, "Have you found him yet?"

_Him-who? Who was he trying to find?_

"No," An irritating, somewhat scared sounding whisper replied, it must be Zachariah. "Raphael, I am trying my best-" There was something about the grind of his voice, it almost had an echo, three echoes, each with a slightly different sound.

"I could call another angel, brother." There was deadly a hiss in Raphael's tone, "The seraph needs that broken thing, and it was your fault he got away, giving you the chance ot redeem yourself is a mercy."

_The seraph- seraph… why was that familiar? What was a seraph?_

Something close to whimper sounded from Zachariah's side of the conversation.

"Find him, brother, or I'll tear your ever precious lion's head right off your shoulders."

Then he was silent.

"Fuck." Dean's voice cut over the buzz, his brain slowly tuning into the sounds of the real world around him. _That was… that was ... he'd just tuned in to..._

"Dean?" The thought was cut short by a voice from across the room.

"C-Cas" Dean's voice caught when he swiveled to face Castiel.

The angel's wings hung limply by either side, even thinner and scrawnier than before. His cheeks were sallow and his arms stunningly gaunt, like he'd been starved. His thinness was unsettling, he hadn't looked like that a few moments ago.

"Dean…" Castiel's eyes turned to a space beside him, widening to reveal the electric blue of his irises, made only more intense by the dark shadows under his brow. "Oh-"

Castiel caught Dean's stare and returned it, but something in his eyes had changed. They seemed softer, brighter, deeper, more alive. They weren't the same stony, piercing, stunning things from before. Yet it was as if they'd become more... more real. The pupils inside those blue pools shrank and the white around them gleamed. The angel's eyebrows creased up in silent terror.

"Your- your eyes, Dean, your eyes." The words were barely coherent and Castiel's lip movement seemed not to match what Dean was hearing, "They, silver- s-silver eyes-"

Dean didn't know how he knew, but he could tell that Castiel's mouth was dry. And to be honest, his was too. The shock of everything; the voices, the shadows, the burning in his eyes, the conversation he overheard; it stole the breath right out of his lungs. He wanted to scream, or cry, or shout, or laugh, but no matter what, not a single sound could force its way out.

Castiel took a tentative step forward, his entire body glowing with an acute sense of apprehension. One of his hands twitched in Dean's direction, only to throw itself back to his side, clenching tightly around the loose fabric of his t-shirt. He took another step forward, then another, then another. He walked at a snail's pace, but eventually he stood across from Dean, his eyes swimming with thousands of indiscernible thoughts and worries.

There was a moment of thick silence in the small space between them. Castiel was biting down on his lip, squinting at Dean with glistening eyes, and Dean stared down at him, his own eyes aching and projecting silver, dancing lights over Castiel's face.

"Can you understand me?" Dean didn't even notice he was holding his breath until he blew it out harshly at Castiel's question.

Dean scoffed, "Understand you?" his voice had a stutter, but he wasn't really nervous, "Yeah, I didn't go deaf, Cas."

The angel stepped a little closer, squinting his eyes slightly and coking his head. "Right now, the words coming out of my mouth, repeat them, exactly." A muscle under Castiel's eye twitched, "My name is Dean Winchester."

Dean furrowed his brow briefly before repeating the words in an almost perfect imitation of Castiel, "My name is Dean Winchester." This was stupid, why the hell…

Castiel frowned, gulping before saying, "My brother's name is Sam."

"My brother's name is Sam" Again he repeated, but less like Castiel. This was ridiculous... Why was Cas getting so nervous all of a sudden?

"I pursue and slay beasts like my father before me." There was a nearly fearful tremor in his tone, his tilted his head slightly to one side, like it was some kind of reflex for him.

"I pursue and sl- okay enough, what the hell is all this for?" Dean shouted, making Castiel flinch backwards. "I know what you're saying, I'm not an idiot, Cas!"

The damn angel kept giving him that look. That pitiful, sad, worried look that was so common to him, so often splashed over his face. "Dean." Castiel's voice was level, like a doctor talking to a patient, "I was speaking in Enochian."

Dean laughed. Cas was joking, right? "Uh, no Cas, that was English, plain old, slightly 'Cas' English." He smiled weakly at Castiel, expecting him to fess up to the stupid prank. Not that Castiel had pranked him before, but there was a first for everything , right? And why not now? Maybe the angel thought a bit of comedy would…

Castiel rose his hand, hesitating before resting it on Dean's shoulder, shooting Dean with an apologetic, earnest look.

"You're lying-" Dean reached to brush the hand off, but was caught in Castiel's stare. Those eyes, those bright blue eyes, pinning him in the spot with their ethereal shine.

"I'm not, Dean, " The hand squeezed him and Castiel turned away briefly, hiding his face from Dean's view. "You heard it in English because that's what you're used to, but surely you saw that the movement off my lips didn't match what you were hearing." He kept the professional, level tone, but his shoulders were shaking, "I haven't spoken a word of English since you said you could see my wings..."

"No, Cas," Again, Dean wanted to pull away, but found himself stuck in place instead.

Castiel turned back, his blue eyes meeting again with Dean's green ones. But the they had become dewy, welling up with… with tears. A single drop rolled over the edge, to be followed by one after the other after the other.

"I'm sorry Dean but…" Castiel was keeping his voice steady, despite the slick of salty water running down either hollowed cheek. It wasn't like Castiel to cry. It wasn't right. Nothing was right. "I am not lying to you."

"No no no no no no-" Dean's voice broke, he finally tore himself from Castiel's grip, from his piercing stare. He needed to get away from him, away from everything.

Dean screamed, he punched his fist into the wall, cracking it open with a thunderous snap. He didn't feel the splinters, and he could barely hear Castiel shouting at him, and threw him off when he clung to his arm. The angel gasped and there was a thud, Dean too enraged to care.

"FUCK!" The TV blared on again, the radio joining it with a crackly screech. The light-bulbs flickered, shone and exploded, sending tiny fragments of hot glass all over the room. Castiel yelped from somewhere behind him, the glass was hurting him. Yet it wasn't so much as making Dean flinch.

He grabbed a chair and held it above his head, arms trembling. "FUCK" He slammed it into the ground, "FUCK" Again, he smashed it down and two legs broke off, one flying into his shin, the other across the room. "FUCK!" The chair snapped as he threw it onto the floor one final time, the splintering crash of breaking wood stopping the thoughts racing in his head.

"Dean, stop!" Castiel screamed, his voice raw and scared, Dean again felt the angel's hands on his arm. He tried to shove him off but he didn't budge."You'll kill yourself, you'll kill both of us!"

The pleading wail of Castiel's voice hit Dean, but he wouldn't, he couldn't stop. Angry tear's streamed down his cheeks, his eyes blazing again and the shadows behind him spreading and sending blankets flying in a chaotic blur.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?" his voice roared, broken and horrifying at the same time. He buckled over and slammed his fists into the ground. Every fibre of him burned, searing agonizingly under his skin. His chest was on fire. His heart was icy. Something jarred in his throat and he couldn't breathe anymore, he couldn't think anymore. "WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING!"

_You know what's happening, what's happened… _a corner of his mind hissed through the mess in his brain, _Castiel knows it too, he knew it before you did…. _

"SHUT UP!" Dean cried, his voice screeching through the air. Castiel's hands dug into his arm.

_You're an angel, Dean. _Like a dagger, the thought dug into him. _You're not human anymore._

"SHUT" He clawed at his head with his free arm, desperate to tear the voice out, "UP!"

_You won't die, you'll see you brother die, _His fingernails broke through the skin, only to be pushed back as it healed, _You'll see everyone die , all your friends. _Castiel was grabbing onto both arms now, tugging at them with all his might. _Even little Cas, you saw his eyes, his wings, how they've been shrinking and dying, he's practically human. _

"Dean! Please.." The angel… if Castiel even was an angel anymore, begged him, his voice quaking and spluttering.

_You'll be alone._

"Please…", the tone was helpless, human.

He fell to his knees, all feeling gone from his limbs. Acid was burning in his chest, and a soft crackle buzzed in his ears. He was silent at first, and Castiel crawled over to him. And when Castiel wrapped his arms around him, Dean dug his face in his shoulder and wept.

He clung onto Castiel like he was the last person on Earth, hands grasping at his baggy shirt and clinging onto it like a drowning man clinging to a lifeboat. Though, in his own way, Dean was drowning, too. Everything was screaming inside him, every sound echoing, every part of him aching, not even air could still itself within him, it was like being trapped under a layer of ice. Ice that you couldn't break through no matter how hard you bashed your freezing fists against it. Nothing could take that pain away from him, but…

But holding someone, someone warm, someone alive, someone he … _cared_ about. Someone he _saved _... It numbed the ache a little.

"What's happening to me…" Dean knew the answer, but he asked anyway, sobbing each word in a whisper, his face pressed into Castiel's collar. "Am I..." He faltered, not wanting to say it out loud, as if it would make it true, "Am I an... have i turned into..." The word, it just couldn't get out of his throat. "An... _angel_" Finally it surfaced, yet it came in a breathy whisper, nothing more.

"Not truly..." There warm touch on his back, followed by something hot and damp. Dean could make out the fragmented sound of Castiel crying, trying to sniff back the tears but coughing and breaking down anyway. The hug tightened and Dean curled slightly, pulling his knees closer to Castiel.

"You've changed." Any trace of gruffness in Castiel's tone was gone, the voice was almost heartbreaking to hear. Dean could only imagine the face that went with it, and the thought alone made him sob a little harder. "We both have…"

Something soft, but slightly coarse rested on either side of Dean, filling his nostrils with a rusty, gentle scent. He tore his face from Castiel's shoulder to see the angel's wings wrapped around him, full of gaps and shining dully. The sight made something in Dean break, if there was anything in him left to be broken, and he couldn't bear to look at them.

"You ... when you were bleeding I…" His voice was monotonic, yet choked and packed with feeling, "I-I absorbed it, your fucking grace, I sucked it in," It made so much sense, but was absolutely mad at the same time, "And now you're… you're"

"I'm fine," Castiel lied, the feathers on his wings tickling his shoulders as he shifted them, " I will be fine," A tear hitting the back of Dean's neck said otherwise, "You'll be fine, I'll fix you."

Dean knew it was a lie, there was nothing either of them could do, but he wanted to, believe it. He really did. And he would. This chaos his life was falling into, the burning in his chest, the crashing sounds in his head. None of it would stop, but he'd make it. Somehow, he'd stop it all. He'd be normal again; he'd get back to his shitty, human life. He'd get Cas's wings back, he'd force them back onto him, no matter who he had to kill to do it. He'd try and act like this was just some sickness he'd get over.

_Yeah._

_Like the flu._

_I've just got angel-it is, I'll get over it._

And with that thought in his mind, Dean Winchester lost hold of what little consciousness he had left and drifted into unconsciousness, not even caring that he was embracing Castiel, perhaps even…

Perhaps even thankful that he was.

_**A/N: gasp! Dean absorbed Castiel's grace! *cue dramatic music* A seraph is involved somehow! *more dramatic music* Dean and Castiel are hugging *again, more dramatic music***_

_**SO MUCH DRAMATIC *collapses***_

_**... gosh this was actually really hard to write (especially to start), and it's super mega short :L I've been suffering a mild case of writer's block, lack of laptop and end-of-the-holidays-itis all week, so I'm actually really glad I managed to get this written today (at the cost of a good night's sleep). As always, I look forward ot any feedback (it really helps guys! the more i get, the quicker I'll feel obliged to write), and GOOD GOLLY my fic has more than 5000 views HOW DID THIS HAPPEN. *throws confetti aggressively and smiles forever* AND 101 FOLLOWERS HOW *throws more confetti***_

_**So yeah! thank you so much for reading this, you guys make me go asdfghjkl;'**_

_**~Casjuice out.**_


	9. Chapter 8

There was the darkness again

The void.

The dream.

The all too familiar nothing swallowing him whole, drowning him with emptiness and blanketing him with its silence.

Submerged in the thick, dense water, Dean couldn't will himself to move. Arms struggled to budge, legs tried to kick, his body writhed with all its might to pull itself free of the crushing tar. It strangled him.

He tried to suck air in, but the only thing to fall into his gasping lungs was thick, treacly, gluey nothing. The want for air didn't sting or burn like it should, nor did the foreign ooze in his body. The only feeling of drowning plaguing his form was that gentle, slow, draining squeeze that came when you weren't getting enough oxygen. A giddiness in his head and a tightening in his throat, his chest, everything.

Yet no matter what he did, how hard he tried to swim through it ,he couldn't break the surface, he'd never break it. With every attempt to move, the sludge got heavier and heavier, slipping past him to either side in a cruel illusion of movement. It was pushing down and piling up, slowly forcing him deeper and deeper into its depths.

Like the tar, words got stuck in his throat, he couldn't shout for help or scream, no matter how much he wanted to. Trapped, buried alive, slowly but surely suffocating in heavy, crackling emptiness.

_Why is this happening... _he thought, and was stunned when the words running through is mind blared through the static like a radio on its highest volume.

His eyes found nothing when he tried to see himself in the dark, and his nose filled with a strange, acrid smell, like smoke and rot. Something was coming.

A dull shine far out of reach.

_My light, _his words rippled past like before and he tried to move his hand. It stuck, but he could see the dim light's glimmer grow.

_Help me, _Even his thoughts sounded choked, _please. _A plead, a prayer. It wouldn't get him out, he couldn't even move. There was no way something that faded could loosen the hold the tarry blackness had on him.

"_Dean" _A voice answered his thought. Ambient and familiar, reaching his ears in a trembling echo. The light was speaking. It was going to… but it couldn't.

With every fibre of his strength, he pushed. Nerve endings sizzled, cells flared, blood boiled. His lungs folded in on themselves as every inch of him seared and crushed in a desperate struggle for movement. For every inch he moved, more and more lead-like tar poured over him, turning a crawl into an agonizing torture.

The light was slightly larger, it's ghost of a form taking up more space in Dean's field of vision. What had been a glow before was definitely just a pale skin , what he was sure were beams shooting to either side were anything but. They drooped pathetically on either side, as if they were dishrags sewn onto its back.

_What happened to you_ Dean gasped for a breath that would never fill his lungs. He was falling without hitting the ground, knees buckling against nothing and hands aching without a cause.

It turned, Dean recoiled. The brightness of its… of his face… of his…. The clear blue….

_"You did"_

Dean's hand brushed over the figure's dim leg and it tore. Soft as cobwebs, it ripped like paper. Shreds of the dull skin floated for a split second in the tar before dissolving. Dean's lungs filled with the gluey blackness as he gasped in horror.

The slit opened and the leg severed violently, pulling away from the whole in one deft slide. When Dean grabbed it to pull it back, the flesh melted away into a dark red smoke, a smell of rust staining the void.

Petrified, Dean shrank back, but the form only edged closer, its face lost and its eyes relentless in their gaze. He tried to push it, no, him away, his hands pressing up against its bare chest. Dark, blotchy, bloodied bruises spread like ink blots wherever he forced his hands against the skin, deep slashes appeared where he splayed his fingers in a desperate attempt to shove the figure away.

_"It's all your fault_" Dean was sure tears were streaming out of his eyes. The figure's mouth moved slowly, framing the words with sharp, cracked lips. The hunter couldn't make it all out, he was trying to get away. Every time he so much as brushed against the figure, his glowing skin bruised or bled. If he grabbed a hold, gashes tore chunks of flesh away that liquefied in the black quicksand if he pushed, the bones broke and the skin festered. He took his hand away and the figure pressed his face against it.

Dean drew his hand back, and the skin stuck to his fingers. A huge shred of flesh peeled off the figure's sharply lined face, half of its upper lip, most of its cheek. Dean screamed and shoved himself back. The figure didn't make a noise, looking on with a stiff expression. Half of his face a soft beige, the other red, frayed, dark; intensifying the unhuman quality of the piercing blue eyes. Dean closed his eyes, but the grotesque image still played behind his eyelids, he could still feel the soft, wet skin on his hands.

_No, _he was stuck again in the tar, paralysed, trapped under the figure who he'd previously been so desperate to cling to. He enveloped Dean in an embrace, skin bubbling and melting, going hard, then damp, then grainy like sand when it touched Dean's. The sand rolled over him and he tried to scream, but his voice was swallowed by the emptiness around him. In his silent plea, his open mouth met something, something cracked , bitter and dry, but so soft and sweet. It forced itself against him and melted. It was blissful and electrifying at first, but the sweetness turned to saltiness, then sour and crumbling. An electric buzz swerved into a chill, a sting.

His eyes flew open to meet a brilliant blue flash. He was eye to eye, falling into the gaze, drifting. The static of silence intensified into a raucous screech, Dean was lost. He couldn't feel anything anymore, not even his own body or the rusty decay of the figure. All he could see was the blue, the bright azure radiance surrounding him entirely. Its purity was only corrupted by two black spots, perfectly shaped pinpoints suspended in the air.

Dean was overpowered, he couldn't even think, tantalized by the unmoving points of perfect black. Impossibly still and concentrated. The silent thunder of the static resounded through the eerie tranquillity, until it began to fray the blue and the black.

Everything flickered with noise and it separated and dissolved into a bright white- a brighter white than was possible- a screaming slur of unknown words shot through the white- and then it stopped.

Black.

He woke without his usual start, the usual spike of tension in the heart. He felt cold. Stony. The dream tangled in his thought-stream, but not as much as the indistinct chatter buzzing through his brainwaves. His eyes stung painfully and the jumbled pictures in his mind made his head ache and his stomach squirm. He wasn't alert enough to move or speak, he simply groaned.

He lay still, trying to grasp some kind of focus to order the muddle of information and memories, separate the dreams from the reality, the voices from his thoughts. Everything was so confused and strange.

It didn't help that his body was buzzing and voices were chattering in his head. He felt so hollow and tired, but energy just kept surging through his bones, making his nerves crackle and his muscles twitch. He felt sore on his back, like he'd pulled a muscle or been punched. It was a dull, constant ache in the strangest of places.

_Why the hell is my back hurting so much_

He shifted with greater speed than intended. The covers over him- yes, he had covers over him- slipped off his feet as he pulled them up over his head to block out a rainy sound coming from somewhere in the room.

He rolled and instantly regretted the decision. His body crushed down over something, something that he suddenly felt a lot of pain in.

_Right._

_Angel._

_Wings._

The words angel and wings gave him a sinking feeling, and for a second he wished he was still dreaming. He was going to wake up before Cas even zapped in, Sam would come back, they'd argue a bit, go hunt some stupid monster, go back to a dodgy motel, get drunk, go to sleep; wash, rinse repeat. But that was a childish wish. He'd really landed in it this time.

Carefully, he shifted onto his back, shuffling uncomfortably to try and move his wings. God, they were so annoying.

Giving up, Dean opened his eyes slowly and sat up, stretching and half yawning. He heard a shatter and turned around in a flinch. His arms weren't the only thing he was stretching.

Shivers spread through the arch of his wing as he tried to fold it back, making Dean's stomach twinge a little, looking at the wing made him uneasy.

It had much more shape and weight than before- and so much colour. It wasn't the same wisp of shadowy smoke, but thick and plush, covered in lush, tawny feathers. Shades of rich to sandy browns and flecks of creamy white. The feathers were gently rounded and smooth, reflecting the dim light dully and quivering slightly as Dean held them in mid fold. Dean's expression lightened at their gentle, natural palette, but he would never really like them. They weren't supposed to be there, they shouldn't be there, he wished they couldn't be. But there they were. They would probably appear... well… beautiful to anyone else's eye, but the only thing running through Dean's mind was a single, solitary, cold thought that made his heart sink.

_"You're a freak, Dean, you're not even human anymore."_

He tore his gaze from them and pulled the sheets off his body, bracing against the autumn chill. A few little snippets of memories slotted back into place and he remembered the broken sound of his voice, the way the sound of shattering wood blocked out the roar in his head.

Slowly, he turned where he sat and hung his feet over the side of the bed. His feet met splintered wood and shattered glass, but he put his full weight down anyway. It didn't hurt.

Looking across the room, he saw the wreckage he'd caused. All the glass was shattered, most of the furniture was destroyed, wallpaper on the walls was slashed, the carpet was flecked with red and covered in muddy looking feathers…

Another memory snuck back in and Dean's chest tightened, he remembered throwing Castiel across the room, he remembered him shouting and yelping when he hit the wall with a heavy thud… Dean clenched his fist and swore under his breath. He felt like a monster.

Dean walked over the messy carpet, finding one patch that was just a bit redder than the rest, the carpet had been pressed down, like someone had lied there for …

"_I'll be fine…"… "I'll fix you"_

He remembered crying into Castiel's shoulder, and feeling the coarse rub of his decaying feathers on his skin. He remembered how everything seemed to hurt a little less when he was clinging onto him, close to his warmth and… Dean shook himself out of his recollection, he didn't know why he wanted to stop reliving it, it was either embarrassment or sadness, he couldn't tell which.

Either way, he had fallen asleep like that, so Castiel must have moved him. Dean gave the room a brief once over in search of the angel, but he was nowhere to be seen. Where was he?

"Cas?" Dean called out as he walked around the room, pulling back sheets and searching everywhere. He took a curious peek outside the motel window to see a crisp autumn morning, but saw no Castiel. The sky was a clear, gentle blue with a smooth, fading tint of pastel pink.

Realising that the gentle pattering sound he could hear wasn't rain, Dean turned to face the bathroom door. There was a faint mist slipping out of the bottom and creeping over the carpet.

"Cas, that you in there?" Dean knocked on the door.

There was no response, but Dean could hear Castiel's footsteps and something rough bumping against shower curtains.

Maybe he didn't hear him.

Dean knocked louder.

The footsteps stopped and the curtains rustled again. The pause was thick.

"Cas?" Dean's voice was small and gentle.

No response.

Dean stepped away form the door and sat on the corner of his bed. Maybe Cas didn't want to hear him.

He listened idly to the sound of running water and felt the warmth of the steam snaking away from the door. It smelled like musty soap and sickeningly floral shampoo, there was something else mixed in it too- but Dean couldn't quite pin the scent.

It was relaxing, just sitting there and listening to the muffled shower, the occasional light thump and squeak as Cas walked around, a brief rustle as he shifted the curtains. It was so painfully domestic… However, Dean's attention spiked when the constant batter of water on skin was interrupted by sharp, choked sounds. Broken sounds that came in little bursts every couple of seconds. An occasional sob or sniff, sometimes loud, sometimes soft.

Each time Castiel sobbed, Dean felt guilt stab in his gut like a dull razor, feel it twist when a sob grew , feel it dig in when it choked out to silence. He felt like it was all his fault, even though it wasn't. He felt like he was the reason Cas was so miserable, and for that he wanted to punch himself in the throat.

He wanted to burst in and apologise, to comfort him or just force him to stop crying, he just needed to. But Dean forced himself to stay put, Castiel would come out when he was ready. He didn't need Dean to see him with eyes red and puffy from crying and a voice hoarse from sobs.

He needed some time for himself.

It was a while before the shower stopped, a good hour at least.

The first thing Dean did was pick up his phone. It had been seven days since he'd seen Sam. At least seven days. He hadn't so much as left a voice message on his phone.

But no matter which of Sam's numbers Dean dialled, none of them were picked up, each one leading to bored variations of the same words, "This is Sam, leave a message"

"Sam, look," Leaving messages was getting harder and harder as frustration welled up inside him, "Can you just answer? You don't need to tell me where you are, you don't need to come back, just call, okay?"

He hung up for the twenty seventh time.

Worried, Dean dialled in Bobby's number.

"Dean?"

"Hey Bobby," Dean started to pace around the room, wings twitching agitatedly behind him . What was he going to tell him?

"Are you okay boy?" Bobby's fatherly tone was sneaking in through the tired rumble of his voice. It was like he had some kind of spidey-sense that detected any and every kind of anxiety. "You haven't called for days."

"Not really," Dean sat himself down on the corner of his bed. "Have you heard from Sam?"

"Can't say I have," Dean could hear the wheels of bobby's wheelchair grind as he spoke. There was a shuffling and what sounded like a book opening. "Why? Haven't you seen him?"

"No Bobby, it's been over a week," it was hard to avoid sounding stressed, "He hasn't even picked up his phone once."

"Hmm…" The book slammed and the wheels grinded again, "I'm sure he'd fine, but I'll try to get onto him anyway."

"Thanks," He said that, but he wasn't comforted much. Sam had ran off like this before, he knew there really shouldn't be much cause for worry- but he couldn't repel a creeping feeling that something about this was off.

"Before you hang up on me, how's Cas?" Bobby's voice softened again, approaching the subject warily.

"Alive but…" Dean turned to the bathroom door, spotting the muddy, crumbling feathers littered on the floor as he did so.

"But what, Dean?"

"It's almost like he's human." He whispered it, as if it was some kind of secret, something he didn't want Castiel to hear him say, "and I-"

"Dean?"

"Never mind- bye Bobby." Dean snapped the phone shut before Bobby could protest when he heard the taps squeak and the flow of water stop.

Steam swept out of the door as it opened, rolling out and turning to a thick mist in the chill of the air. Castiel stepped out, robed in a towel and shiny with hot water. Dean's gut clenched.

Castiel's face was covered in scratches and grazes, little lines of red messily dividing his face into jagged patches. There was a light bruise across his cheek and another spreading like a smear of dirt across his forehead. When he blinked slowly, squinting his eyes, Dean could see just how reddened they both were, sunken into tired shadows beneath his brow and still dewy with hot, salty tears.

Castiel was looking across the room blearily, the sway in his step suggesting fatigue. Dean followed a droplet of water rolling out of Castiel's hair and down his shoulder, collecting in the dip of his collarbone for a split second before slipping off to trickle over his chest. The skin, like that on his face, was marred by scratches of varying size, some long and deep, others barely there at all. None were bleeding, but nonetheless, the sight was unsettling. Dean actually felt his stomach turn when his eyes fell on the large blackening bruises smudged over the angel's shoulder and side. He was to blame for that.

A thick silence fell between them, Castiel standing stiffly in the door frame, Dean sitting on the edge of his bed, guilt knotting up in his stomach as he looked over Castiel's battered body. What was Dean even supposed to say? Asking if Cas was okay would be horrendously stupid, he couldn't find it in himself to apologise… was there anything normal to talk about? Dean was so caught up that he didn't quite hear Castiel when he spoke.

"What?" He dragged his eyes back up to Castiel's face, which, as he wasn't surprised to find, was not turned in his direction.

"The clothing you gave me is no longer suitable for wearing." His voice was slightly nasal and rare. He raised his hand, presenting what looked a bit like the old grey Led Zeppelin t-shirt Dean had lent him. Castiel turned to Dean, expression blank, but forcefully so. "…Dean?"

"Hmm?" The hunter jerked back into attention.

"You lost concentration momentarily- are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine" Dean gave his head a brief shake, "So- clothes right?" He hopped onto his feet and walked across to his duffle. "Okay, so I've got a worn out skivvy, some grey plaid, red plaid, blue plaid, green plaid and some hideous floral thing of Sam's." He pulled the shirts out of the bag, "And a pair of his jeans."

"Could I look at them?" Castiel walked over next to Dean, pulling up his towel as he did.

"Sure", He shuffled over as Castiel peered over the meagre selection with a look of intense concentration. Making up his mind, he grabbed the jeans, the skivvy and plucked a grey flannel off the bed.

"Oh, and you'll need these, "Dean tossed him a pair of black boxer-briefs which Castiel failed to catch. Dean supressed a laugh, "Nice job."

When Castiel ducked down to pick them up, Dean spied how prominently his ribs jutted out between the gaps in his frayed feathers. Dean felt a cold feeling creep into his gut. The poor bastard looked like he'd been yanked right out a concentration camp. Why the hell was he losing weight so quickly..? "Cas, are you hungry?"

"I'm unfamiliar to the sensation, so I wouldn't know. " He straightened back up slowly, a small cut on his chest opening and bleeding slightly as he did so, his face looked pained for a second before going back to its default blankness. He shuddered and cringed. "I assume, however, that the nausea I'm experiencing right now isn't normal."

"Nausea, right, anything else?" Dean caught Castiel shivering again, "There's a second towel in the bathroom, go dry yourself off,"

Obediently, Cas made for the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Through the door, Dean could hear Cas saying "My limbs ache, my balance is poor and my innards burn," There was an incredibly loud growl, Castiel squeaked, then groaned.

Dean laughed, "It's okay Cas-" His eyes teared up and it was difficult to get a breath in between laughs, he sighed and briefly looked around the room, "Cas, whaddya say we get out of here?"

The door creaked and Castiel walked out, dark grey skivvy rolling up around his neck, flannel hanging loosely over the top and jeans crinkling a lot at the feet. While oversized, the colours suited him. Dean shrugged as if to say _"Not bad"_

"I wouldn't object." He tugged at the tight collar of the skivvy and eyed the ground, no doubt still littered with tiny shards of glass, "I'd prefer somewhere less hazardous."

"Awesome." He stood up and went to pat Cas on the shoulder, but stopped, remembering the bruise he'd seen there earlier, then a thought struck him. _Well Cas can do it… _Cas shot him a confused look as Dean raised his hand and cupped it gently under his sharp jaw. Dean pulled Castiel a bit closer and leaned in, focussing carefully on a scarlet line under his eye.

"Dean what are you-" Castiel's voice was quiet, he flicked his eyes down to Dean's hand and then back up to his eyes, "Dean, no-"

His thumb pressed against the line and slowly slid over it, from one end to the other; tantalisingly slow. A light tingling ran through his hand and it seemed glue to the skin for a fraction of a second. Castiel's knees buckled and his breathing faltered, he moved weakly as if to push Dean away, a staggered gasp escaping his lips. His eyes rolled back and flickered shut, Dean instinctively tucked his other arm behind the angel's back to steady him. Dean closed his eyes.

Trying to ignore the dizzy feeling that suddenly swept through his body, Dean opened his eyes. Most of the smaller cuts on Castiel's face had vanished completely, and the soft, healthy glow that had been absent from his skin since his arrival had returned. The skin felt warmer and thicker, all the dark shadows and ugly bruises gone.

He ran over Castiel's body with his eyes, pleasantly surprised at how every part of it seemed to push up against his clothes in a healthy way, banishing that world war two war prisoner look Castiel had accommodated. He was still thinner than he usually was, but Dean was pretty content with the improvement and his eyes lingered on the angel's torso before flicking back up to his face. He darted a tongue over his surprisingly dry lips.

"Cas?"

The angel flickered his eyelids, opening his eyes to let a bewildered expression play over his features. His pupils swelled and shrank strangely in a frenzy to adjust to the light The angel shook his head lightly as Dean grinned back at him. The hunter slowly took his hand off Castiel's cheek and gave him a hearty thump on the shoulder.

"You feeling better?"

Castiel didn't respond, he just stood there, eyes wide and mouth ajar.

Dean snapped his fingers in front of Castiel's face and the angel flinched, "Earth to Cas!"

He stuttered a little before managing to force out a slightly embarrassed sounding "Yes- yes I feel better." Regaining his composure and wiping the stunned expression from hsi features, he stepped back a little and fixed Dean with a stern look, "You shouldn't have done that."

"Why the hell not?" Dean noticed his hand stillon the small of Castiel's back, holding him in place right up against him. He flinched and slipped it off, Castiel tensing a little when Dean's hand brushed over his jeans. Dean crossed his arms and flexed his wings instinctively.

"You could have hurt yourself, Dean," His bedraggled wings rose slightly behind him, but twitched and folded on either side of the angel, a few feathers dropped to the floor. "Healing is taxing, even for the highest ranking angels." His tone was almost exasperated. "And you're not even an angel at all, you're closer to a Nephelim than anything else."

"A Nephewhat?"

"A Nephelim, the child of an angel and a human- very few exist." Castiel slumped slightly, unimpressed by Dean's ignorance of angelic lore- wasn't he supposed to be an expert on this kind of thing? "They have similar powers, but their capabilities are roughly half of an ordinary angel's due to their human parent," He ran a hand through his hair, "Consequently, using their angelic abilities can lead to extreme, and sometimes fatal, problems."

"You're such a hypocrite," How many times had Cas healed him or zapped him places at the cost of his consciousness? "And besides, I didn't even heal you that much." Dean gestured towards the remaining , though considerably shallower cuts still scattered over Castiel's face. "I just wanted to help."

Castiel almost looked away, seeming to squirm slightly, "Fine." He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger showing an air of irritation. "Just be careful, that's all I ask."

_Fair enough _. Dean shrugged and grabbed a box of plasters out of his duffle bag, "Cas, look at me for a sec." As the angel turned his head, Dean stuck one of the crappy, beige band aids on one of his cuts. Castiel looked annoyed.

"You know, I can do that myself."

Ignoring Castiel's remark, Dean stuck another on a cut on Castiel's forehead. "If you aren't gonna let me heal you with my nephe-lefe-whatever- mojo, you're gonna have to let me dote on you with my shitty first aid kit."

"Why?" Teh angel was very obviously peeved, face twitching uncomfortably under the band aids.

Dean sighed as he stuck another plaster on the reluctant angel's face, _Might as well be honest_, "I feel guilty, okay?" He raised his hands in resignation and his wings fanned out, "Sue me."

There was that ever so familiar puppy-esque head tilt, "Gulit isn't an action that would-" Dean could practically see the cogs turning in Castiel's head as he tried to figure out how the phrase _sue me_ could possibly relate to experiencing shame. The angel just shook his head a little and sighed.

Much to Castiel's relief, Dean had only used about three or four band-aids, leaving most of his face unmarked by their ten-shades-too-pale beige. He didn't even know that Dean had band-aids, or at least, he'd never seen Dean using them. They seemed to be something used on the scabby knees of six year olds, not fully grown men.

Catching the Castiel's confusion, Dean explained, "I used up most of the normal stuff on you before" The hunter flicked his eyes down to Castiel's hip; there wasn't any trace of blood seeping through his flannel-skivvy combination. "By the way, how're the stitches holding?"

He pulled up the edge of his shirt to look down at the ugly stitches, Dean frowned at the redness around them. "They are uncomfortable, but very strong."

Castiel pulled his shirt back over his waist before Dean could take a closer look and static stare fell between them, neither really wanting to comment. Starting to feel uncomfortable, Dean ducked down and started scanning over the room, picking up all his belongings that had found themselves flung onto the floor. Castiel followed suit.

Without much talk between them, Dean and Castiel divvied up the bags and carried them through the door, closing it behind them with a light slam.

It felt good to get out of that room.

_**A/N: Christ this is so late- I'm so sorry guys! I got caught up with assessment and GISHWHES so I didn't have time to post this. Originally, it was going to be part of a bigger chapter, but I feel this is a good place to cut off for the moment (In which case the next chapter is started/ maybe sorta half done ish? - I've just hit a creative wall, so I may not update for a bit) .I realise that I've forgotten to mention why exactly no-one came to investigate the screaming and smashing- but eh. This motel has crappy customer service and is owned by a deaf guy- that's my explanation.**_

_**Feel free to leave reviews! Planning to have some cute stuff in the next chapter (inc. road trip and movies[probably JJ Abrams Star Trek as it came out in the year this is based in, Dean likes star trek and I like star trek])**_


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